


before & after

by sarcasticfishes



Series: before & after [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Beach House, Blow Jobs, But also a lot of feelings idk, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Claudia Stilinski's Background, Developing Relationship, F/M, Frottage, Graduation, Hand Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, Post canon, Pre Canon, Rimming, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Timelines, Underage Drinking, minor Stalia & Draeden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That first day in the woods, clutching Scott's inhaler in his hand, Derek had known there was something familiar about Stiles. It was something he coudn't quite put his finger on, something that went beyond a sixteen year old boy smelling of ash and shivering under a Sheriff's jacket, something that came <i>long</i> before that. In actual fact, the real story started not with two boys in the woods, but with a too-inquisitive girl.</p><p>Her name was Claudia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here’s a ridiculously long author’s note.
> 
> I wanted to write a story **before we begin season 5** in which it was still possible for Derek and Stiles to have a romantic relationship, despite what’s happened in canon so far. It took a lot of planning and tweaking and timelines (god, the timelines are fucking ridiculous, but I got through them!) but this story is what I’ve come up with. It also explores my headcanon that there was a particularly large age-gap (12ish years) between Claudia and the Sheriff (who I’m calling John bc whateverrrr that’s his name). 
> 
> There is a lot of switching between the pre-canon and post-canon time line, but hopefully it’s not all that hard to follow. It’s 100% okay to talk to me on [tumblr](http://unfortunatelyderek.tumblr.com) and ask me questions if anything is confusing at any point.
> 
> Quick warning for those who may need it: Malia is an integral character here. Because this follows on from current canon, not only is she Stiles’ girlfriend (just at first), but she’s Derek’s cousin. She’s very important to me, and I find it absolutely necessary to find the most respectful way to end her relationship with Stiles. There are also some mentions of Braeden, but not a whole lot. REGARDLESS, **Sterek is endgame here**. Rating of the fic will change with later updates.
> 
> FINALLY, in tradition with the show's habit of casting sexy young actors to play younger versions of the characters (Chris, Peter, Derek etc), I have a _suggested_ casting for y'all. [Emmy Rossum](http://www.thesnipenews.com/wp-content/gallery/emmy-rossum_1/emmy-rossum-sweater.jpg) as Claudia and [Zach Roerig](http://d2wulyrnp9ipq4.cloudfront.net/showcards/v4/AllPhotos/3563021/p3563021_n506476_cc_v4_ab.jpg) as Young John/Deputy Stilinski.
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
> Huge kudos to [Laz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst) for being my rad beta and also listening to me whine about this, and for shouting and encouraging. If you've made it this far and you still want to read this? Let's be friends. Peace out.

**[ 1 9 8 6 // J u l y ]**

The real story started not with two boys in the woods, but with a too-inquisitive _girl_.

‘Inquisitive’ was a good word when it came to describing Claudia Podolzky. Others might have said _nosy_ , but Claudia cheerfully rejected all implications that this was a negative thing. She wasn’t _nosy_ , she simply liked to know what was going on around her, especially when it became obvious to her that the Hales were hiding something.

/ / /

When Claudia had entered into the Beacon Hills Role-Model Program for Young Delinquents, Talia Hale (her assigned role model, or ‘big sister’) had set aside a couple of days each month during which they would _not_ be meeting.

“Believe me, you’re going to need the break,” Talia had said, absentmindedly stroking her bump, “I know I will.”

“Are you sure you should be doing this while pregnant?” Claudia had narrowed her eyes a little, leaning in to see the calendar Talia was drawing up. “I’m just saying. I’m a handful.”

“I think you’d be surprised by what I can handle,” Talia had teased, “Are _you_ willing to put up with _me_?”

“I’m here because Deputy Stilinski is blackmailing me,” Claudia had replied bluntly. However, despite her disinterest in the programme, it had been hard to deny she already liked Talia a great deal. Even though she was just twenty-three, Talia was already married and pregnant with her second child. Talia’s family, the Hales, were a bit of an anomaly. While they were well known for their many contributions to Beacon Hills, the family itself often came across as withdrawn, and stayed on the edge of society. In spite of this, they were well liked, and Claudia had been secretly very surprised and pleased with their match.

“Blackmailing you?” Talia’s eyebrows had risen, though she didn’t lift her eyes from the calendar, where she’d been marking a few days off their schedule every month.

“I owe him one,” Claudia had mumbled, and Talia had given her a knowing look, but said no more.

Their relationship had materialised almost out of thin air. Often it was rare for Talia to be found absent Claudia. Over the next year, Claudia was often invited for dinners at their house in Forest Hill Park, sometimes just to hang out and spend time together. When Talia gave birth to her first son at home on Christmas Day, Claudia had been downstairs taking care of little Laura while everyone else ran around in the chaos. (Claudia’s parents didn’t mind so much that she ended up missing Christmas that year, they were just glad she’d found a positive influence in her life.)

Peter, Talia’s younger brother, was a freshman in high school, Claudia a sophomore, and getting to know him meant that Claudia began to understand Talia’s no-nonsense approach to Claudia’s misbehaviour. Peter might have even been a good partner in crime if Claudia hadn’t found herself becoming bored with his brand of borderline-dangerous troublemaking. Talia would often tease Claudia that she had an admirer, and while blue-eyed Peter was exactly her type, it was clear that opposites attract, and Claudia felt she’d much rather date the good guy than the bad guy. Which was fine. Except, sometimes in order to get the attention of the good guy, you have to be a little bad – and Talia always knew _exactly_ what Claudia was doing.

During the last week of July, Talia found Claudia sitting on the front porch of the Hale house with a notepad in her lap and a pen pressed between her lips.

“What’re you up to now?” she questioned, peering out the doorway, baby balanced on her hip.

“Nothing ‘mischievous’, I promise,” Claudia muttered, “My birthday coming up. I’ve got a bunch of friends coming over to my house and I’m just budgeting in some stuff.”

“Oh yeah, your sixteenth, right? When is that, August?”

“Right,” Claudia’s head bobbed, music blaring out from the headphones looped around her neck, cassette player hooked into the waist of her skirt. “Dad’s a little hesitant about letting me have a party at the house. He thinks all my friends are troublemakers. Therefore, I’m doing all the funding myself on my allowance.”

Claudia tipped her head back then, looking up at Talia, her face softening as she caught sight of the little boy in Talia’s arms.

“There he is! There’s my little Derek. Oh he’s getting so big.”

“Seven months next Friday,” Talia said softly, brushing back a tuft of Derek’s dark hair, “Actually, do you mind holding him for a sec? I have an idea.”

“Uh, okay,” Claudia pulled a face as Talia handed baby Derek off to her, and disappeared inside the house. Claudia, frozen with uncertainty, blinked down at the baby in her arms, and then slowly lowered herself into a sitting position on the porch steps.

“You have ridiculously pretty eyes, kid,” she said under her breath, and Derek blinked up at her, “You’ve your dad’s colouring but… same shape as your mom. Like Laura. You guys are gonna be such heartbreakers.”

Derek let out a sudden gurgle-shout, a pudgy fist in the air, and Claudia laughed, letting him wrap his tiny hand around her finger. She wasn’t sitting there long, watching him kick happily in her lap, when Talia reappeared and shot her a sly grin, swinging a set of keys around her fingers.

“So,” she announced, bouncing down the steps to stand in front of Claudia, “How do you feel about a birthday weekend by the lake?”

/ / /

With the go ahead for the party at the Hales’ lake house, and Talia confirmed as chaperone, Claudia immersed herself in planning. However, it was generally quite difficult to hide things from Claudia, even when she was absorbed by other things. Her brain worked in an almost constant state of overdrive, no matter how much she was juggling. Which was why when Talia called on the 21 st to remind Claudia she’d be away for a few days, Claudia finally snapped a little. The charade was starting to offend her.

“Yes, I know,” Claudia said, rolling her eyes, “You do it every month, always around the time of the full moon, coincidentally, and maybe it _is_ just coincidentally but it’s still suspicious as hell. I mean, you’re supposed to be my role model but you’ve been keeping this weird secret from me for over a year? Yes, I know you’re going away this weekend,” she said, fighting a wince as she let go of the phone cord and flexed her fingers, “And I think I know why.”

Talia was quiet for a moment, just the sound of static over the phone line between them, and then she said, “You should come over. Right now, Pods.” Then there was just dial tone.

Claudia stared at the phone, before carefully hooking it back into the base on the wall. Her hands were shaking, so she stuffed them into the pockets of her dungarees and stuck her head into the living room where here parents were.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to Talia’s real quick.”

Zbigniew lifted his head from his book and gave her a fond look, “You’ll be back before curfew. Don’t go _running into trouble_ ,” he said, trailing off into Polish without missing a beat. Claudia rolled her eyes.

“ _I won’t, Papa_ ,” she answered easily, “ _Love you_. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, honey,” Jane replied airily, “Wear your helmet.”

“ _It makes my hair look stupid!_ ”

“ _It looks stupid anyway!”_ her father teased.

“I don’t speak Polish!” her mother exclaimed.

Even though Claudia laughed as she stepped out the front door, her hands still trembled.

/ / /

By the time Claudia arrived at the Hale house, it was starting to get dark. She suppressed a shiver against the cold evening air, secretly glad for the chill that disguised her shaky nerves as she dropped her bike into the bush by the mailbox and trudged up towards the front porch. She’d barely stood up onto the bottom step of said porch when the door swung open, and Claudia nearly tumbled right back down again. 

Claudia huffed out a breath of exasperation, ready to chew Talia out of it, maybe even Peter, for scaring her, when she saw who was standing there; it wasn’t either of the Hales she’d expected.

Anita Hale was Talia’s mother, the head of the household. Everyone within the family seemed to revere her, and love her greatly. But while she was a very affectionate and kind woman, she had a sharp edge to her that Claudia couldn’t quite put her finger on. She respected the older woman immensely, and swallowed down any snarky reprimands that may have arisen from her stumble.

“Claudia Podolzky,” Anita addressed her warmly, standing back, “Come inside. It’s hot during the day, but the night this far out into Forest Hill… it gets chilly. Wouldn’t want you to get ill.”

“Thank you, Mrs Hale,” Claudia mumbled, and Anita stepped back for her to enter into the foyer. Claudia had been in the Hales’ home many times in the past year, had often felt like part of the family, but this time was different. The atmosphere seemed tense, tight, only worsened by the sight of a sheepish looking Talia hovering in the door of the living room just to the left. Claudia had _never_ seen Talia look hangdog over anything, and that was the last straw, truly. She felt her pulse quickening, on the edge of panic.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, taking a quick step back towards the door. Anita still stood between her and the exit, but Claudia could dodge past her if an escape was warranted. Talia took a step forward, her hands raised in an attempt to placate the young girl.

“It’s okay Pods. Come sit down with us. If you want to leave afterwards, you can. We won’t stop you.”

“I know,” Claudia said softly, walking past Talia to the couch with a sudden burst of courage. She sat down heavily on the sofa, her feet crossed at the ankles, “I know what you all are. You thought I wouldn’t notice.”

“I know,” Talia murmured, her voice strong but apologetic, “I know. And it’s insulting to you, really,because I know how smart you are.”

“Damn right,” Claudia frowned, “You weren’t subtle in the least.”

Talia looked down at her feet for a moment, eyebrows drawn, and then looked to the side to where her mother stood. Anita gave a single, encouraging nod, and Talia cleared her throat, lifting her head again.

“Should you say it, or should I?” she asked, and Claudia scoffed, unable to help it; the entire situation was so—so _ridiculous._ Her heart was going ninety miles an hour, and yet she shouldn’t stop the word from leaving her mouth.

“ _Werewolves_ ,” she laughed.

/ / /

**[ 2 0 1 2 // F e b r u a r y ]**

There was something inherently bitter about Stiles, right from the moment he walked into loft, to the moment Scott excused himself, and he was finally left alone with Derek.

It’d been weeks since they’d gotten a real chance to talk, words that weren’t exchanged in the midst of a crisis. Derek couldn’t remember the last time that they both had just _been_. It must have been months ago, last summer or more. He could still remember the way Stiles looked back then, with bright eyes and quick wit and just-grown-out hair which stuck out at awkward angles that couldn’t be helped.

Stiles didn’t look like that anymore.

He looked tired, too old and weathered for a PSAT student. His eyebrows were often drawn, mouth set into a firm frown whenever Derek was in the room. His hair was longer still, damp from the rain now and falling in his face. Derek remembered the way Stiles’ cheeks used to be flushed constantly, as if the kid lived in a constant state of embarrassment and his body had just decided to get a jump start on the day. Now he stood pale and slender, cheeks hollow and bruises under his eyes.

Derek opened his mouth to speak, maybe something like “you’re looking well rested,” with a snarky edge to spark off their usual banter. He didn’t get the chance, before Stiles stood up, expression stormy as he cut right across Derek’s words.

“Where have you _been_?” he asked, succinctly. Derek blinked, wondering if he had heard right.

Stiles seemed angry, the bitter edge in his scent, in his aura, more prominent now that the words had left his mouth. Apart from that, his body language gave away nothing but cold indifference, shoulders lax and arms resting at his sides. He was wearing a plaid shirt, buttoned up, and Derek wondered that if he hadn’t been, would Derek have recognised him at all.

“What do you mean?”

“Where _were_ you,” Stiles asked again, his voice just a little more croaky the second time around, like he was struggling to push the words out, “I mean, me? I was always there when you needed me. From the moment we _met_ I’ve had your back Derek, regardless of whether I liked you or not. When you got shot, in the _pool,_ down at the station. In- in _Mexico_ , when you were— You think that was all for fun? I had your _back_ , Derek. Where were you when _I_ disappeared? Huh?”

Derek took a step back in shock, his calves hitting the mattress of his bed, watching Stiles’ unusually still form face him from across the room. 

“When you- _what?_ ” Derek frowned.

“ _Nogitsune_ ,” Stiles spat, “If anyone would have known, it was you. But you were never there. Why was that, huh? Why’d you abandon me? Turns out, I _needed_ you, Derek.”

“The Calaveras had me and Peter, Stiles, you _know_ that.”

“And I know that Braeden brought you back.”

“I was helping! I was convincing Chris Argent _not to kill you_. You don’t remember?”

“I remember you fighting me, _it_ , the Nogitsune. I remember seeing you over Aiden’s body when he died, the first time _I_ had seen _you_ in months. Because you,” Stiles laughed suddenly and humourlessly, “You _left_ Beacon Hills.”

Derek almost jerked back, the pure, dry _anger_ in Stiles’ voice leaving him astounded.

“I…” I _didn’t mean to leave you. I’m sorry. I’m better now._ None of those seemed right, none of them seemed _enough_ , and all seemed too much.

“It’s weird, because, I thought we were kind of… going somewhere?” Stiles laughed, humourlessly, “As friends, at least. Friends tell friends when they leave, Derek. Friends say goodbye. I had to hear about you leaving from _Scott_ … that kind of felt like shit, Derek.”

Derek set his jaw, sat down on the edge of the bed. However he had imagined finally getting a moment alone with Stiles, this wasn’t it.

“I just wanted you to know,” Stiles said eventually, when Derek couldn’t find the words to apologize sincerely enough, “That I’m angry. I’m hurt. And I guess I’m better now? But there’s still a damn mile-wide gaping hole in my chest that you leaving didn’t help in the slightest. And maybe I was too worried about Scott and Kira to bring it up before, because it would have been selfish of me when they were in so much danger. But now you know.”

“Stiles… whatever you think about me, about how I treated you, _believe me_ -”

“Believe- _Derek_. I don’t even – How do you expect me to trust you now?”

“Did you _ever_ , really?” Derek asked, before he realised he didn’t want to know the answer. A _yes_ would hurt, knowing he’d underestimated how Stiles felt about him. A _no_ would only be slightly more hurtful. Somehow, the pitying look Stiles gave him was worse than either answers, something Derek hadn’t factored in.

“Guess it doesn’t matter now.”

When Derek didn’t say anything more, Stiles let out a frustrated exhale, and turned to leave. He got as far as the door before he turned around again.

“Scott’s having a Valentine’s movie evening for everyone,” he said flatly, “You and Braeden are both invited. It’s a pack thing.”

Derek looked up to find Stiles leaning back against the door, staring at the jamb, into space, pointedly _not_ at Derek.

“I’ll be there,” he said softly.

“Braeden?”

Derek shook his head minutely, “No. We’re… no.”

Stiles nodded, and Derek watched the way his throat worked when he swallowed thickly around whatever words came to mind at that revelation. Derek knew that Stiles had liked Braeden. She was fierce, clever, loving even. She’d saved them all, Derek more than once. But she didn’t know what she wanted, didn’t know how to make a living without killing, and that was their downfall, because it went against everything Derek believed now.

Stiles cleared his throat suddenly.

“Well. Tuesday night at 5pm. Be there or be… not there.”

He slid the door shut with a note of finality, and after a few, long moments of silence, Derek huffed out a long, heavy sigh and fell back on his bed. He closed his eyes, and wished for some _peace_ , finally.

/ / /

It felt a little strange to be showing up at Scott’s house on Valentine’s night of all nights, but as he approached the door, the sounds of wild laughter, an aura of happiness enveloped Derek. It was as close to the feeling of _home_ that he could remember, and the door swung open to a grinning Malia before he could even reach out to knock.

“My elusive cousin,” she said, a teasing grin edging in as she stood back, “C’mon in.”

_Cousin_. The word was familiar yet strange all the same. Just a year ago Derek had thought himself the last of the Hales, before Cora came back, before Malia appeared on the scene. And yes, two family members were only a fraction of the eight he’d lost in the fire, not to mention Peter and Laura, but it made a difference to know he wasn’t alone.

Malia reminded him of his mother when she cocked her head and smiled, closing the door behind him and then hooking her arm through his. Derek knew from Scott that she was still struggling with being human, but Malia had grown into herself in the scarce few months since Scott had called her back, and Derek could feel her newfound confidence coming in waves, the strength that came with being pack.

“You look well,” Derek said to her as she led him into the kitchen, and the way she grinned at him told him that he needn’t say more than that. She understood.

“Derek’s here,” Malia said brightly as she stepped into the kitchen where Scott, Kira, Liam and Stiles already were. Derek was surprised by the little cheer that went up from the group, even from Liam who barely knew him apart from the whole lacrosse stick incident. Even from _Stiles_ , which Derek hadn’t expected in the slightest.

“Didn’t think you’d show, man,” Scott said, pulling Derek into a hug, patting him on the back.

“Stiles said it was a pack thing,” Derek shrugged, “I’m honoured to be invited.”

Scott looked at Derek in disbelief for a moment, before his face split into a grin.

“We’re gonna watch Love Actually. Malia’s never seen it.”

“In fairness,” Stiles interjected, from where he was keeping an eye on the popcorn in the microwave, “there’s an exhaustive list of popular movies Malia’s never seen. It’s called _All of Them_. Ouch- _Ow!_ ”

Malia pinched Stiles gently under the ribs, which led to retaliation, which led to a tickle fight, and subsequently, Stiles pushing Malia up against the fridge. A groan rose up from the rest of the room’s occupants, and Derek quickly averted his eyes, feeling his stomach twist unpleasantly.

“Guys, c’mon,” Scott said, teasing, but with a hint of Alpha so that Malia pulled away and Stiles ducked his head into her shoulder bashfully. Luckily, just then the doorbell rang. Derek, who was closest to the door, quickly backed out of the room to answer it.

When Derek opened the door, Lydia smirked at him from the other side and gave him a quick once over.

“I’ve always loved that sweater.”

Derek resisted the temptation to look down at his sweater and instead flashed a rare grin at her.

“Thanks. It’s a favourite of mine.”

“Crimson is a great colour on you.”

Derek snorted, but stood back to let Lydia into the house. She gently patted his arm as she passed, an affectionate gesture that made Derek realise how much he truly liked Lydia and how diplomatic she could be. It was probably his favourite thing about her.

Back in the kitchen, Malia and Scott were both absent, and Stiles was emptying the popcorn bag into a bowl and smacking Liam’s hand away as he tried to pick at it. Kira hugged Lydia in greeting, and Scott returned with Malia in tow wearing a large red hoodie of his. 

“Alright, we’re all here,” Scott beamed at them all, and Derek felt that sense of home come back to him, full whammy, like a punch in the chest but oddly pleasant. “Movie time?”

“Movie time!” The chorus replied, even Derek. Stiles grabbed the popcorn bowl and yelled “I call the left side of the couch!” and Scott groaned, but ran after him, and Lydia sighed out an “Oh, Alpha”, sarcastic but happy as she watched the boys tussle on the couch, soon joined by a giddy, yipping Malia.

Lydia touched Derek’s forearm.

“Is it hard? Watching them?” she asked, quiet, though all the others were too preoccupied to overhear.

“What? No, it’s great. Scott being happy with his pack? That’s exactly what I’ve been gunning for from the beginning.”

Lydia gave him her patented _look_ , one which clearly stated _‘that’s not what I meant’_ as she flicked her eyes to where Stiles and Malia were suddenly tangled on the sofa, her legs crossing his lap, his arm around her shoulder. Derek sighed, glared at Lydia as he sunk into the farthest armchair from Stiles.

Stiles seemed… _happy_. He had a pack, a best friend, a _girlfriend_. Derek couldn’t understand how this was the same kid that had showed up at his loft just a few days earlier, furious and upset about Derek’s apparent lack of interest in him. (Whatever interest Stiles thought Derek lacked certainly wasn’t the problem. Derek felt he was, if anything, _too_ interested.) Derek knew it was selfish of him; Stiles _should_ be happy, and Derek _wanted_ him to be.

But not like this.

/ / /

Once the movie was over – Kira openly blubbering, Liam pretending he wasn’t, and Malia visibly confused – Derek took it as his cue to go. Most of the pack had dates to get to or go on, and Derek wasn’t planning on sticking around to third wheel it. He said his goodbyes, thanked Scott for having him over, and had made it halfway down the street to where he’d parked when he heard Stiles shouting.

Derek froze, his hand on the door of the car, as Stiles caught up to him.

“ _Hey._ Hold up a sec, I- wow I can’t believe you still drive this ugly thing,” Stiles grimaced, giving the Toyota a once over, frowning deeply.

“That’s rich, from you,” Derek snorted, “Proud owner of a blue monstrosity.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but sobered himself, leaning against the wing of the car.

“Why you rushing out on us?” he asked after a moment, and Derek’s hand curled into a fist around the handle of the door.

“I don’t want to be a third wheel to anyone. I know Lydia’s going on a mystery date. Liam said he has a boys’ night with his friend. Scott and Kira. You… You and Malia. I don’t want to intrude.”

Stiles bit his lip, eyes cast down at his shoes. He nodded curtly, taking a step back.

“I see,” he muttered, “Yeah, I guess, I didn’t really expect you to stay. I mean-”

“I’m confused,” Derek bit out with a sudden surge of confidence. Maybe it was the buildup of tension over the night, maybe it was not knowing when he would see Stiles again, “You’re happy with her, I can tell. So why did you get mad at me the other night? You’re with her now. You’re _with her_.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh, eyes widening slightly, “That’s _completely_ different.”

“Is it?”

The moment Derek had said it, he expected a replay of Stiles’ pitying expression from the night in the loft, the look that clearly conveyed that Derek didn’t know a damn thing about Stiles. Instead, he was treated to a nearly reproachful look.

“I remember some of the stuff that happened back in November. The possession, moments like hurting people I love, and killing. In the midst of it, there was Eichen House, and Malia was _there_ , and…” Stiles cleared his throat, his face relaxing, “After everything, she came to my house. I was in sweatpants, which is what I wore in Eichen, and she asked me if I ever wore anything else. I said they were what I felt most comfortable in. She said she felt most comfortable in fur.”

Derek snorted, even if his chest tightened at the fond look on Stiles’ face.

“I made some stupid comment about how she seemed very comfortable naked too, because in Eichen, there was a shower—never mind. It was just me, speaking before thinking. But then she apologized for punching me in the face, said that she’d been mad at me because I was one of the guys who helped turn her back human. But now I was one of the guys who could help her turn back, and I realised I would do anything to make her happy because there had been too much sadness and hurt already.”

Derek had to tear his gaze away, unable to take the earnest expression Stiles took on, his blunt honesty in telling the story of how he ended up with someone else.

“But now I think she wants to stay. Because of me. And I want her to stay too, Derek. She saw me at my worst and she’s _still here_. And I-”

“ _Stiles_.”

“-I _love_ her, Derek.”

Derek’s hand fell limply down by his side.

“And I’m confused too,” Stiles said, voice low, bare, “Because it could have been you. Don’t you think?”

Nope. No, this was _not_ what Derek signed up for. He couldn’t remember signing up at all. He was pretty sure Peter signed him up for this one without his consent.

“I-” Derek breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly, “I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah,” Stiles murmured, and though he didn’t say anything more, Derek heard every word he implied. _Leave. Again. It’s your prerogative._

“Have a good night, Stiles,” Derek said, getting into his car, wishing he really meant it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**[ 2 0 1 2 // A p r i l ]**

After nearly two straight months of stilted meetings and avoidance, a very tolerant Scott had finally had enough.

“I don’t care what happened between you guys, but it’s affecting the pack. Kira doesn’t like even being in the same room as either of you right now. _Speak to Derek_. Fix things. Take back whatever you said-”

“I can’t just _take it back_ , Scotty,” Stiles hissed leaning in close, “We’ve been ignoring each other for too long.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott’s voice took on a sturdier edge, and Stiles scoffed.

“You can’t Alpha me into this, I’m human-”

“And you’re my best friend. You’re my second in command, so out of respect and concern for your pack’s welfare, talk to Derek and figure your shit out.”

Stiles fell silent, glare fixed somewhere around Scott’s mid-chest.

“Fine,” he shrugged, “ _Fine_. I’ll invite him over for tea and cake and we can talk about our feelings.”

“Well you don’t have to do _that_ ,” Scott smirked, “But that’s totally the spirit.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

**/ / /**

There was shouting coming from the Stilinski house when Derek arrived that evening at seven, as per Stiles’ text. He’d already spent most of the evening going back and forth about whether he would actually show up or not, but Derek had come to the conclusion that he really didn’t want to damage whatever relationship he had left with Stiles, and ignoring his olive branch could only be detrimental to that relationship.

But now, the argument from inside the house had Derek slowly backing away from the front door, until it was flung open and – Déjà vu – he was faced with Malia. Only, last time he saw her, she hadn’t been so angry. Malia looked visibly shocked to see Derek standing on the other side of the door, like her anger had totally overwhelmed her, blocking out her supersenses. She hadn’t even heard him coming. 

Not quite as accommodating as before, she gave Derek a strained look before stomping past him, a storm in denim short shorts. She was near the end of the driveway when Stiles appeared, and shouted;

“GUESS I’LL SEE YOU WHENEVER YOU DECIDE YOU WANNA SLEEP IN AN ACTUAL _BED_ AGAIN.”

Malia’s growl was only audible to Derek’s ears, but her reply was intended solely for Stiles.

“I SLEPT IN THE WOODS FOR EIGHT YEARS, ANOTHER NIGHT WON’T KILL ME.”

Stiles’ face went stony, but then he rolled his eyes and went back inside, leaving the door open for Derek. Derek cast one last glance at Malia, walking down the road (in the direction of Scott’s house, he noticed) before following Stiles inside, gently closing the door behind him.

Derek hadn’t often been downstairs in Stiles’ house, but it was just the same as he remembered it from the few times he had been. Narrow halls, family pictures on the wall. Many of them showed Stiles’ mother, covered in a thin film of dust bar a few fingerprints along the frame, over her pretty face.

Stiles was in the kitchen, putting on the coffee machine in a borderline violent manner.

“Will she be back?” Derek asked tentatively.

“She’s got nowhere else to go,” Stiles shrugged, “I mean, Scott’s I guess. But Kira’s parents don’t like her, I think it’s a Fox-Coyote thing. Lydia… they’re not at sleepovers just yet.”

“What about her own house?”twisted on his hip towards Derek.

“After her dad admitted her to Eichen House, she didn’t trust him anymore. With Morrell’s help she was able to discharge herself, and Dad was able to pull some strings in social services, got her emancipated. She’s been living with us.”

“Wow, living together already,” Derek said dryly, and Stiles levelled the spot on the wall just past Derek’s shoulder with a glare.

“It’s not easy, okay? We’re good, most of the time… but she’s got a temper, and so do I, and it’s hell when we fight,” Stiles turned back to the coffee machine, “Do you want coffee?”

“Uh,” Derek cleared his throat, “Yeah. Black, just-”

“One sugar, I know,” Stiles said softly, stirring a spoon in one of the mugs. Derek tried not to dwell on how exactly Stiles knew the way he took his coffee, but it was proving difficult as he swelled with pride. Stiles handed a mug to Derek, jerked his head towards the living/dining room. Inside, Derek took a seat at the dining table, watching Stiles set his mug down next to Derek’s, sitting closer to him than Derek had expected, close enough that Derek could feel the warmth coming off him, the faint air of irritation.

“You two okay?” Derek asked, surprising himself when he meant it.

Stiles pressed his lips together tightly and jutted his chin out. After a moment, he shrugged one shoulder.

“We’re having some issues. She’s getting more and more frustrated with being unable to turn into a coyote again, especially after- after _you_. Full shift and all. I didn’t think it’d affect her that much, because she seemed happy here but… I don’t know. She lashes out at me, says I’m smarter than her, asks why I can’t figure it out.”

“She has a point. You’re smart. You _usually_ figure it out.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes slightly, “You sound like Lydia.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Obviously we all rely on you. Scott even told me that you figured out what the bite meant before he did. He didn’t believe in werewolves… but somehow you, of all people, came to _that_ conclusion.”

Stiles took a long drink from his mug, elbows against the table and both hands cupped around his drink. Derek allowed himself to be distracted for a moment by Stiles’ forearms – veiny, sturdy even – and the contrast of his almost delicate wrists. His hands were similarly contradictory, large and strong looking with long, somewhat _–_ Derek would go as far as to say _willowy_ – fingers. Stiles still had his boyish qualities, as every seventeen year old should. But from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers, he was suddenly a man, and it made Derek _ache_.

Then, Stiles began speaking.

“My mom,” he said, and then paused to draw his fingertip around the edge of his mug, “Dad said she was a mellowed out trouble maker, and she just said that she’d _seen it all_ , and had no energy for any more. That… that wasn’t so funny towards the end, but it was always true. She knew things. I’m sure of it. She always told me to keep my mind open, to be imaginative. So I did.”

“What was her name?” Derek asked, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table.

“Claudia,” Stiles said, smiling as he did, “People used to say she was wild, crazy, with this affectionate look on their faces. Then she got sick, started disappearing in the night, got irritable, the nightmares… _Then_ people said she was just plain crazy. But she was still my mom.”

“That’s why… that’s why you got the MRI. You thought you were sick too.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said hoarsely, “And just because I’m not now, doesn’t mean I won’t be.”

“We’d know if you were sick, Stiles. Scott would give you the bite.”

“Of course he would,” Stiles scoffed, “He kind of offered when we thought I was still sick. And he’ll offer again after I turn eighteen. I don’t think I want it at all, ever. But who knows.”

“Either way, it’s a brave decision,” Derek said softly, and without really thinking about it, he reached out with his hand, gently brushed his knuckles along the backs of Stiles’ fingers. Stiles didn’t move right away, just went very still, lifting his head to _really_ meet Derek’s eyes for the first time all night.

“You think?”

“I was human too for a while, remember?Scared the hell out of me, Stiles.”

“You seemed to handle it well. It seemed like a very _transformative_ time for you,” Stiles said, his voice coming out as more of a croak, so he drank from his coffee again, jostling Derek’s hand over his. Derek pulled his hands back underneath the table.

“Had to keep it together for you guys.”

Stiles stared blankly at him for a moment, before groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You. _Ugh_. You and Scott are so alike, god, I swear,” Stiles huffed out a laugh, opening his eyes, “Which is why I’m having such a problem with being mad at you all the time.”

Derek didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. He’d thought Stiles had been perfectly content with being angry at Derek and ignoring him. He’d thought Stiles felt _better_ for it.

“I kinda… Mexico, with the Berzerkers. I thought-”

“You do a lot of explaining, Stiles,” Derek cut across his words gently kicked Stiles’ foot beneath the table, “Like you never even considered that maybe I _understand_.”

Stiles looked down at his hands fidgeting on the table, picking at a hangnail. “I thought you were going to die,” he said, voice low.

“So did I,” Derek answered honestly.

“Don’t _do_ that again,” barely a whisper.

“I’ll try not to.”

_“Fucking try harder_ ,” Stiles’ voice returned with a bite, rising at the end, and Derek saw he was teary eyed, furious, indignant, “For the pack. For _my_ sake if not your own. You can’t die on me Derek. No more than Scott, nor my dad, nor Malia can. You can’t. You don’t get to, okay?”

“Okay.” Derek agreed quietly, nodding. “For you—” and then Stiles’ searching eyes widened, before he suddenly pushed himself across the space between them and pulled Derek in tight, into a hug. — _I’d do anything_ , Derek didn’t need to say.

**/ / /**

Malia came back, and Derek left again. Stiles could see a pattern forming, and his chest constricted, because someday they’d both leave, and neither would come back again. Because he’d pushed them both too far.

**/ / /**

**[ 1 9 8 8 // M a y ]**

John was just returning to his desk when he noticed a familiar face on the bench. Sighing internally (externally too), he pushed himself up out of his seat. Once Claudia caught sight of him coming, she ducked her head in shame. At least she felt remorse for whatever got her in here, he thought.

“Claudia,” he said, eyes narrowing at the way she visibly flinched. He rarely called her that anymore. Not since the birthday party incident nearly two years ago. “Here we are again.”

“It would seem so,” she said flatly, glaring with intent at the wall past John’s shoulder. By now he knew what it meant when she couldn’t look him in the eye, when she looked straight past him. Guilt.

“What did you do now?” he asked, but as Claudia opened her mouth to answer, Officer Foley stepped out of Sheriff O’Connor’s office, and answered for her.

“Caught her in the act. Vandalism and destruction. She keyed Mr Jacobs’ car.” He said gruffly, and Claudia sneered at him, wrinkling her nose. Foley turned away from her, though he spoke loud enough that she would surely hear him. He flipped through the manila folder in his hand, which John realised were Claudia’s charges.

“I have a daughter about her age you know. _She_ wants to train as a deputy. _She_ is doing something with her life.”

Claudia swallowed visibly, ducking her head again, and John sighed, taking the files of complaint from Foley’s hands.

“I’ll take care of this one,” he lowered his voice, “And I think she’s more scared of me than you. I’ll talk to her.”

“You sure you don’t just have a soft spot for her?”

John huffed out a noise of disbelief, and Foley shrugged, nodded, “Fine, okay. She’s not eighteen yet so it’s just a juvenile charge this time. But in three months… it’s a whole other story.”

John felt his stomach drop as he took the folder from Foley, watching him leave to get back to his patrol. Then he was left alone in the station with Claudia.

“Did you hear that?” he hissed, “You’re _eighteen_ in just over three months, Claudia. Do you know what that means?”

“That… I can buy cigarettes?” Claudia asked, playing dumb, and John folded his arms.

“This isn’t a joke, Podolzky. You could be tried as an _adult_. Do you know what that means? It means prison time. It means community service. How you haven’t ended up in Juvie yet is _beyond_ me, but I guess you have Talia Hale to thank for that. Imagine how she’ll feel when she hears about this?”

“I was doing this _for_ her!” Claudia cried, throwing her hands out with a clang, and John realised she was handcuffed to the underside of the bench. He sighed, reaching for the keys in his pocket, getting down to unlock her.

“I don’t understand how keying Geoffrey Jacobs’ car is helping Talia Hale,” he muttered under his breath as he got the cuff loose. Claudia rubbed her wrist, frowning.

“He’s an utter bigot. So rude. Bad mouths the Hales right to their faces. He’s disgusting.”

John sighed, and crouched back. Claudia put her head in her hands, long fingers feverishly tangling through her wild, curly hair.

“CJ,” he said, forcing himself not to jump out of the way when her head jerked up again, “You don’t need to fight other people’s battles for them, you know that right? Talia’s all grown up. She’s married, she has two babies. And you’re still just-”

“Do _not_ call me ‘just a kid’,” Claudia croaked, “Don’t you dare.”

“You’re still young,” John rephrased, “You have to go to college. You have a life to live beyond Beacon Hills. You’ll marry someone, you’ll have a couple of kids. Don’t you want that?”

Slowly, Claudia nodded.

“Well,” John sighed, “Unless you clean up your act, that’s not going to happen. Not if you end up in prison, with a record. Please, CJ.”

Claudia breathed in deeply, rubbed at her eyes. “It’s damn hard,” she whispered, “I’m always so- I’m always so angry and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“That’s why you have Talia,” John said, softly, “And if she’s not around, you have me. We’ll find a way to channel your anger, anchor it so it doesn’t just burst up out of you. I’m always here, just a call or a trip in that monstrous Jeep away.”

“It’s not _monstrous_ , it’s my baby,” Claudia protested, suddenly full of vigour again, and John had to stifle a laugh.

“The point is, I’m here for you. For anything,” he smiled, squeezing her shoulder gently, “Anything.”

Claudia smiled weakly, slumping back on the bench as John stood up, returning to his desk.

“I still have to file your charges, but I’m going to call Talia to pick you up. You can both figure out how to tell your parents what happened.”

Claudia nodded solemnly, defeated, as John picked up the phone and made the call.

**/ / /**

Talia was livid when Claudia got into the car on the way home, but she didn’t say anything right away. Claudia didn’t know if the silent anger was better or worse than being yelled at. Somehow, Deputy Stilinski’s committed concern had been worse than anything Talia could offer.

Derek and Laura were in the backseat, both strapped into booster seats. Laura had a picture book open in her lap, and was flipping through it calmly, while two-and-a-half year old Derek gazed wide eyes out the window, occasionally banging a pudgy fist against the glass excitedly.

Eventually Talia spoke, her voice strained.

“This anger of yours, it’s…” Talia forced out a breath, and if Claudia didn’t know her so well, she’d say she was losing control, “You know my mother wishes to offer you the bite when you turn eighteen?”

Claudia nodded, “She mentioned it to me.”

“Do you know how _hard_ it’ll be to control you anger on a full moon? You can barely even control it when you’re human.”

“I was getting better!” Claudia protested. “I had a minor slip up.”

“A _minor slip up_ as a wolf could mean someone _dying_ , Claudia.”

It was the second time that day that someone had called her by her full name. No _CJ_ , no _Pods_. Straight up Claudia: The Troublemaker.

“You didn’t even ask if I _want_ the bite or not. Maybe I don’t _want_ to take it.”

The car rolled to a stop at the red light. Derek waved at the couple in the next car, babbling away at them, Laura looking vaguely embarrassed. Talia looked to Claudia with a confused expression.

“You won’t take it?”

“I like being human,” Claudia stared out the windshield, “Your mother said if I refused she wouldn’t be offended.”

“She won’t be offended,” Talia agreed, “I’m just… surprised. I thought you wanted it.”

Claudia slowly shook her head, “I have enough trouble concentrating as it is. Imagine me having enhanced senses? I’d never sit still. It wouldn’t go well.”

Talia stayed silent for a moment, but shifted the car into drive as the light went green.

“I disagree,” she murmured, “But regardless, it’s your decision. We will all respect that. You know some of my siblings are human. We offer them the bite too when they’re old enough but most of them choose to stay human.”

“I know,” Claudia whispered, “Maria’s human. She told me she didn’t want the bite.”

“And she’s very happy without it,” Talia agreed, “I’m sure you will be too.”

Claudia sighed, “Are you still mad at me?”

“Furious,” Talia said, smiling, “But eff Mr Jacobs. What an a-hole.”

“A-hole indeed.”

“A-hole!” Derek shouted, banging his fist against the window.

/ / /

**[ 2 0 1 2 // November ]**

It wasn’t John’s first trip to the ER with his son, it definitely wouldn’t be the last, he thought. Malia was fussing over (read: intrigued by) Stiles’ stitches when Derek stormed into the ER, right past John, right past Melissa who at least attempted to stop him, almost shoving Malia out of the way but not quite.

“Hey!” she grumbled, getting jostled aside.

“Are you an idiot?!” Derek shouted, ignoring Malia completely (which was unlike him at all). The question was aimed at Stiles, who was sitting at the edge of a gurney in the hallway. Stiles looked up at him in shock. 

“Am I-”

“You could have gotten yourself killed, running off like that!”

“I _always_ run off like that,” Stiles snapped, finding his voice. Malia backed off a little, but John guessed it was more to get a better view of the fight than to back out of it.

“And look where it gets you! Every time,” Derek retaliated, “I don’t know what you’re thinking when you take off, whether it’s some hero complex you have or whether you’re just plain suicidal-”

“Oh _I’m_ the one with the hero complex? That’s rich-”

“And it’s always the same, we always end up _here_ , at the emergency room because of _you_.”

“Well I’m _sorry_ that I’m such a _burden_ ,” Stiles shouted, voice rising, “You’re always trying to keep me back, Derek, I’m just trying to help!” 

“And I’m just trying to _KEEP YOU SAFE_ ,” Derek yelled, and Stiles suddenly pulled back, a dark look crossing his face. He pushed himself off the gurney, and then leaned in close, saying something that John’s ears couldn’t quite pick up from where he stood. From the way Derek’s face fell, looking ashamed, John could guess it wasn’t anything very good.

Stiles, holding his injured arm into his chest, grumbled something about finding a coffee machine, and disappeared around the corner. Malia spared Derek an apologetic glance, and followed Stiles. Derek was still for a moment before he sat down heavily on the gurney Stiles had vacated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t get to die on me either,” Derek said quietly, to seemingly no one.

“Son,” John said, and Derek’s head jerked up.

“Sheriff-” Derek began, clearing his throat, but John waved a hand at him, and Derek fell silent again.

“Derek, keeping him safe doesn’t mean he returns from battle unscathed. It means he returns from battle _alive_. He will heal. Just not as quickly as you.”

Derek swallowed thickly, gave a jerky nod, and said, “Yes sir.”

John nodded, clapping Derek’s shoulder as he passed by, going in search of his son. 

**/ / /**

_I’m just trying to keep you safe_.

Rage welled up inside Stiles as he stood up, getting right up in Derek’s face, voice low and incensed.

“I am not your kept boy, or your Girl Friday, or _anything_ that falls in between. I am _not_ yours to keep safe. I will fight every time to protects my friends or die trying, and you _cannot_ stop me.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**[ 2 0 1 2 // N o v e m b e r ]**

Allison’s death had been hard on them all, but for such a difficult year, Stiles had to admit it went by quickly. He was stood staring at the calendar on his wall, the date marked with a stark black ‘AA’, when his dad made an appearance.

“Are you going to the service?”

Stiles looked at the suit laid out on his bed, then back at the calendar as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “yeah of course.”

She deserved that much of him at least.

/ / /

Up ahead, Scott cut a lonely figure at the graveside. In the last year a headstone had been erected; black granite and silver lettering spelled the words _Allison Argent. Daughter, Granddaughter, Niece, Best Friend,_ ** _More_** _. “To shoot forward, first you must pull back.”_

Stiles touched the top of the headstone out of respect, then took a stand next to Scott at the side of the grave. Not a second later, Scott’s hand curled around his and squeezed, and Stiles clung on for dear life. Slowly, more people began to arrive; Friends from school, people from the town, distant Argent relatives and closer ones that visibly bristled at the sight of Alpha Scott McCall. It was only when Scott sucked in a harsh breath and squeezed Stiles’ hand did he spot Isaac, handsomely tanned – scarf and all – and making his way through the cemetery. 

Chris Argent was the last to arrive. Stiles remembered the last time he saw Chris, on a sunny day across the border, in the ruins of a church. If Chris had looked worn then, he looked positively beaten now, and Stiles wondered if he himself looked much the same.

The service was, understandably, a hardship. Cutting a quick sideways glance at Scott, Stiles thought he looked as if someone had rather viciously reopened a barely healed gash, or poured salt into and open wound. 

At one point during the service, Stiles caught sight of Derek in the crowd behind Chris, arms crossed in front of him, head bowed in respect. Stiles tried to remember a time he’d seen Derek and Allison in the same room, and then tried to remember a time where they had been allies, rather than enemies. Only one instance came to mind, memories of sunset and tazers, and he quickly pushed it away as panic rose in his throat. 

Stiles felt his heartbeat quickening, and Derek lifted his head, meeting Stiles’ gaze across the grave.

_You okay?_ he mouthed. Stiles nodded, exhaling slowly, focussing on the feel of Scott’s palm against his own, and Derek’s eyes on him. (Stiles tried to convince himself that the fact that it had taken less than a second for Derek to notice him panicking was not worth dwelling on.)

As the group began the break up and go their separate ways, Stiles had a moment of brilliance, if he did say so himself.

“Hey, hey guys,” he said, catching the edge of Kira’s jacket, waving over Isaac who was talking to Derek, “Food at my place, okay? Let pack and families know, okay?”

Scott looked to Stiles, visibly confused. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Stiles smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “My part.” Then he found his dad in the crowd, and grabbed him. 

“You need to go home and make sandwiches.”

/ / /

With everyone waiting down downstairs, Stiles made a quick trip up to his bedroom to grab what he needed for the impromptu get-together; his moment of brilliance was starting to feel more and more like something that could turn sour in an instant. He just hoped he’d had the right idea about how everyone would prefer to celebrate today. This anniversary should be a celebration of Allison’s life, and less of a reminder of how suddenly she was taken from them all.

As Stiles cleared his throat in the doorway of the living room, everyone went quiet, and he placed a full, glass bottle of apple flavoured vodka on the table, and some shot glasses next to it. His dad sighed and rubbed his face.

“Do I even want to know where you got that?”

Stiles smiled and began to fill some of the glasses, despite his shaking hands.

“So, Allison would kill me for telling you all this,” he began, recapping the bottle with some trouble, dropping the cap twice before Derek took the bottle from him. “Um, last summer before she went to France, she, uh, she called me from a bus stop just outside town. She’d missed her bus and was banned from driving, Mr Argent-” Stiles gestured towards Chris, who was watching him with an odd expression on his face, “-Chris was out of town, I don’t know why.”

“Work,” Chris said, nodding as he listened.

“Right, work,” Stiles agreed, “So, I drove all the way out of town to pick her up, and brought her home. Allison had been going off the rails for weeks, you all know why, I don’t have to explain. But now, she said, she just needed a friend who understood. Someone, who had been through something similar. When we got to her house – god, she’d kill me right now – she broke out a bottle of vodka, _apple_ flavoured vodka, from her wardrobe and asked me to drink with her. So, I did. Up until that point, Allison had just been my best friend’s sweetheart, y’know? The beautiful girl who Scott mooned over, heh, excuse the pun. But I think that night really cemented our friendship, and even though it was sad at times, and there were tears, I’ll never forget it. I’ll always be grateful that I got to spend that time with her.”

Stiles cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how silent the room had gone. He picked up a shot.

“We toasted to our mothers,” he said, lifting the glass to his lips, “And now, I toast to her. To Allison.”

Stiles downed the shot, barely even tasting it, too used to the burn. He set his glass back down on the table, upside-down, and gestured to Scott.

“Your turn.”

Scott grinned, and picked up a glass.

Everyone told a story, a _happy_ story that didn’t involve fighting or wolves or kanimas, just stories of pleasant encounters with Allison and better times. Scott told the story of Allison’s 17 th birthday, when they had skipped school in favour of a day in the woods together. Chris mentioned a time they went to the beach in San Francisco. Malia didn’t have a story to tell, but expressed how much she respected what Allison had done for everyone. Lydia spoke of shopping trips and sleepovers, and Isaac stuttered through a recollection of a phone call that lasted long into the night. Everyone had a story, and everyone took a shot (even those who the alcohol would have no effect on, as a sign of respect). Then it came to Derek’s turn. 

Derek picked up the shot and looked at it for a moment, before clearing his throat.

“I don’t have so many happy stories about Allison,” he said, “I’m sad to say none come to mind. We probably butted heads more times than we put them together. But I did have the honour of fighting next to her once, and experiencing what being part of Allison Argent’s team felt like. We didn’t win that time, which was probably my fault-”

Stiles snorted under his breath, and covered his mouth with his hand, as Derek shot him a faint smile.

“-but regardless, it was an honour to have known her, and to know the people she loved.” He lifted his glass, “To Allison.”

“To Allison,” everyone murmured, as Derek took his shot, and set the final glass down on the table. Then the chatter started up again, more lively than before, and Stiles grinned as he got up to follow his father into the kitchen and help with the food. Mission complete on target.

“That was a nice thing you did,” his dad said, getting another plate out for some sandwiches.

“Yeah, I figured we should do something Allison would have liked. And I think it brought the mood up a little. Even Derek said something nice.”

“He did,” his dad agreed, “But you know I’m going to search your room for more alcohol right?”

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles shrugged, “That bottle was all I had anyway, so.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“You shouldn’t.”

/ / /

**[ 1 9 9 1 // A p r i l ]**

Out of nowhere came the beam of a flashlight shining in Claudia’s face; at the sudden noise of her friends’ startled yelps and crashes through the bushes, Claudia almost dropped the flask of vodka right out of the tree when she spotted Deputy Stilinski down below. She was sitting maybe twenty feet up, in the cradle of the splitting tree-trunk, and waved down to him cheerfully.

“Whoa. Good evening, John.” And, yeah, it was a good evening. It was full moon, the Hales were out running in the preserve, and on top of that it was a night of Celebration. Anita had finally decided to pass on her Alpha power, and every so often Claudia would see a large, black wolf running through the trees near her, Talia’s new Alpha form. She was beautiful and powerful and Claudia was so happy for her. Nothing could bring down her mood.

“This is private property,” Deputy Stilinski said, “And it’s _Deputy_ to you.”

“Aw, and here I was thinking we were buddies,” Claudia frowned exaggeratedly, lolling against the branch next to her.

“Not when I’m on duty, and _you’re_ breaking the law,” John frowned right back at her, “Are you _drunk_?”

“Nah.”

“ _Claudia_. Can you please come down?”

“I could try,” Claudia mused, looking up and around her, “I mean, I might fall. Would you catch me?”

“Your friends got down,” John said, sternly, “They ran for it.”

“I told them to,” Claudia shrugged, “Figured I have less to lose then them.”

“Damnit, Claudia, you had _everything_ to lose. Get down here.”

Claudia sighed petulantly, and looked for a way to get down. In her head, she pictured a graceful descent down the trunk and landing on her feet with at least some of her dignity intact. In reality, it was a lot less elegant than that. In reality, she was pretty sure she scraped her hip up on the tree bark, and definitely sure that she landed on her ass. 

“I’m here,” she said, from the ground, “I meant for that to happen.”

“You know that you’re underage, right?” John snapped, “You know that this is illegal? I have to bring you in for this.”

“You know, this is ridiculous, right?” Claudia retaliated, “I’m twenty-one in _four months_ , okay? And- and how is it that we can _serve the country_ , but the country can’t _serve us drinks_? It’s unfair, that’s what it is.”

John stared at her, looking utterly exasperated. “How much have you _had_ to drink, Claudia?”

“It doesn’t matter. A lot. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is the injustice of it all.”

“Oh, it’s _unjust_ that I’m arresting you for breaking the law?” he scoffed at her.

“Well, it’s a stupid, dumb law.”

“That ‘stupid, dumb law’ is in place to stop you and your idiotic friends from drunkenly wandering into the preserve and getting _stuck in big ass tree_.”

“I did not get treed, I do not know why you’re arresting me.”

“You were also _trespassing_ on the Hale’s land.”

“That’s debatable. The trespassing thing.”

“Telling me that Talia Hale is your ‘bro’ wouldn’t make anything you did any less illegal.”

Claudia snorted, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. She’d probably used the Talia card too many times, and she wasn’t exactly some messed up kid anymore. She was in college now, she was supposed to be responsible. She wasn’t supposed to get caught.

Sighing, and pushing herself away from the tree again, Claudia took a step forward that became slightly more stagger than swagger. John watched her worriedly, actually managing to look concerned right up until the moment she opened her damn mouth. Always getting herself in trouble.

“Oh fine, whatever, arrest me. Big bad deputy. C’mon big guy, arrest me.”

“Oh, I’m _so_ putting you in the drunk tank.”

“You have to _CATCH ME FIRST_.”

/ / /

Claudia woke up slowly, on a couch she didn’t recognise, in an apartment she didn’t recognise. When she was sure she wasn’t going to throw up, she decided to brave the hangover, and slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. It took her a few minutes to register the bottle of water and painkillers left for her at the edge of the coffee table adjacent the couch. Later, Claudia would wonder what it said about her that she didn’t question all this before downing the pills and the entire bottle of water, promptly flopping back on the couch for a breather. Only when she felt like her brain wasn’t going to dribble out her ears did she dare get a look at her surroundings.

She seemed to be in the excruciatingly small living room of an excruciatingly small apartment. From where she was sitting she could see into the kitchenette, and she could also see the front door, the bathroom, and the door to her right, left ajar. The apartment itself was clean, very tidy, as if it was barely lived in. The décor was very simplistic, and not very feminine at all.

Then Claudia realised she was wearing a jacket that definitely didn’t belong to her. It was thick, green and heavy, crinkled when she moved, and swam around her narrow shoulders; it smelled vaguely familiar. Oh, and there was a shiny little badge on it that clearly said ‘DEPUTY’. Claudia sat up again suddenly, realising she was in Deputy Stilinski’s apartment. She was hungover in John Stilinski’s apartment. She was wearing John’s jacket, in his apartment… hungover.

“Shit,” Claudia whispered, scooting to the edge of the seat, and realising she wasn’t wearing shoes. “Oh no, no, this is _bad_.”

She stood up and started to take the jacket off but, realising how cold she actually was, quickly pulled it back around her shoulders, tighter than before.

“Where are my _shoes_?” she breathed, wheeling around frantically. John’s apartment wasn’t very big at all, but her shoes seemed to be nowhere in sight – and neither did John. “What the _fuck._ ” Her feet were sore when she tried to walk.

Claudia was down on her hands and knees, searching under the couch, when the front door opened, and she sat up with a gasp.

“You’re up and about,” John said, looking surprised. He held up a cardboard cup holder with two Styrofoam cups inside it. “You didn’t throw up anywhere did you? I brought coffee.”

“You brought…” Claudia trailed off, eyes widening, “Have you seen my shoes?”

“Not since last night,” John said, shaking his head a little.

“What-” Claudia cut herself off, taking a calming little breath to collect herself, “Last thing I remember is climbing a tree.”

John looked like he was suppressing a laugh as he passed her a coffee cup and sat down at his tiny two-person table.

“What were you drinking?” he asked, “Last night, I mean.”

“Apple juice,” Claudia said, sitting down across from him, “Oh, and vodka. Hah.”

John said nothing, just surveyed her coolly as he drank from his cup. He was silent, but Claudia was used to this look by now, the quiet contemplation, his expression a careful balance between interest and disappointment. Claudia never quite managed to tip that balance in her favour, to her frustration.

“How did I end up here?” she asked, finally.

“Well,” John cleared his throat, “First, you challenged me to catch you when you ran barefoot through Forest Hill Park.”

Claudia groaned, dropping her head in embarrassment.

“And then, when I caught you, I took pity on you.”

She lifted her head up again.

“You did?”

John shrugged a shoulder, “You were freezing, and your feet were cut up, and you were so incredibly drunk, Claudia, I couldn’t just throw you in the drunk tank at the station. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Claudia nodded silently, drumming her fingertips against the table. He couldn’t tell if it was her heart stuck in her throat, or if she was actually going to be sick.

“That, and my shift was up,” John shrugged, and Claudia barked out a laugh, nearly toppling her coffee cup over as her shoulders shook. _Of course_ , she thought. _Always such an inconvenience, Claudia._

“I should have known,” she said, rubbing at her forehead with the heel of her palm, hoping she was just imagining the hint of disappointment in her own voice, “I’m so sorry, John. I’m – I’m really-”

“Hey,” John stood up, skirting quickly around to her side of the table, and Claudia felt her words getting stuck in her throat, her breath catching as she became more and more upset, “Hey, what’s- what’s wrong?”

“I’m just,” Claudia jerkily shook her head, fists clenched, “I’m just annoyed at myself. You constantly bend the rules for me, and I’m so – I know it seems like I don’t appreciate it but I do, I really do. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey,” John said again, eyes softening, “I know. I know you appreciate it. I know you care.”

“I do,” Claudia whispered, desperately willing herself not to sob, not to break down and cry like a complete idiot. She rubbed at her forehead with her palm again out of nervous habit, horrified to find her hands shaking. “Thank you for taking me home.”

John smiled, gently touching a knuckle to her jaw. _Chin up_.

“The more mistakes you make, the more lessons you learn,” he said softly, and Claudia snuffled out a laugh, nodding.

“I’m going to be a terrible teacher.”

“You’re going to be a _great_ teacher,” John said, fiercely, “Trust me.”

/ / /

**[ 2 0 1 2 // D e c e m b e r ]**

Sheriff Stilinski invited Derek over for Christmas, which had not been Derek’s original plan. Actually, he hadn’t had a plan at all. Skype with Cora and her girlfriend in the evening, but other than that his schedule was free. It was just another day in the life of Derek Hale.

Except, it was also his birthday, and the Sheriff _knew_ that – he’d seen Derek’s criminal record. Derek was under no illusions as to what this invitation implied. Still, he showed up in the afternoon to the Stilinski house. The last time he’d been there was the night he’d seen Malia storming out, the night Stiles’ tried to apologize. When she’d returned that night, Malia had found Stiles and Derek on the couch watching old Friends reruns. Stiles’ laughter had dissipated the moment she walked in, and Derek excused himself for the night – it had been past 2am, and he hadn’t even realised, too wrapped up in Stiles’ company and good TV.

Now, when Derek rang the doorbell, he wasn’t surprised that it was Malia who answered it.

“We’ve kind of made this a habit,” she said, in lieu of a greeting.

“We have,” Derek smiled, and she held the door open. 

“I’m— going to hug you,” Malia said, by way of warning, and Stiles appeared in the doorway behind her.

“She has to warn people so they’re prepared when she cracks a rib.”

“One _time_ ,” Malia grumbled, and Derek couldn’t _not_ hug her then; she was family, and he appreciated it. She hugged him tightly, and it was a little shocking – he wasn’t used to these kinds of hugs – but he could roll with it. What really stalled him was the way Stiles swooped in for a hug right after, and gave him a little clap on the shoulder, and then on the cheek.

“Happy birthday, dude,” Stiles said, smirk as he turned away, pulling the dishtowel off his shoulder. Malia’s eyes went wide.

“It’s your birthday?!”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles’ retreating figure, sighing inwardly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “Happy birthday to me.”

/ / /

Scott arrived with Melissa a little while after Derek did, presenting Stiles with casserole dishes full of food. Stiles looked relieved if anything, already struggling with cooking the turkey. Regardless of his fretting though, Derek thought dinner went very well, and didn’t even mind when Melissa brought out a small cake with some candles atop it. They all sang happy birthday – even Cora and Juno, who were slightly tinny and out of time from the screen of Stiles’ phone. It felt like being with family. In a way, he thought as Malia flung her arms around his shoulders again, he was.

Later on, Stiles – wearing a paper hat and wielding a glass of wine – shouted his love and best wishes down the phone line at Lydia, in France with her mother and Isaac. Scott sat Malia down for her first ever viewing of Gremlins (“How is this even a Christmas movie?” “It just _is_ , shut up.”) and Derek helped Sheriff Stilinski put away the dishes.

“Having a good time, Derek?”

Derek smiled, wrinkling his nose. “… Yes.”

“Why do you sound so reluctant to say that?” the Sheriff laughed.

“I’m not _reluctant._ I just – thank you for inviting me over. This was nice. It’s been a while since – thank you.”

“You’re always welcome, Derek,” the Sheriff said, slinging the dishcloth over his shoulder, much like Stiles had done earlier. “Regardless of what the boy might say.”

Derek looked down at the cutlery drawer he was restocking, “Stiles and I are good now, I think. Settled our differences.”

“Hmm, if that’s what you’re calling it,” the Sheriff said lightly, and Derek almost ripped the handle off the cutlery drawer in surprise. “Anywho, I know you don’t get anything out of it but I don’t suppose you’d like a beer, Derek?”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be nice.”

Derek followed Sheriff Stilinski into the living room, where it was just Scott and Melissa watching the movie. Derek passed Melissa a new glass of wine and accepted a beer from the Sheriff, taking the armchair in the corner for himself.

“Where’d Stiles and Malia go?” the Sheriff asked.

Scott cleared his throat, “They went out onto the patio for a _Talk_.”

From the tone of Scott’s voice, Derek had to wonder whether talking actually involved more verbal action or more of Stiles’ hands up the front of Malia’s shirt. However, when he chanced taking a glance towards the patio doors, Stiles and Malia did seem to be in the midst of a deep conversation on the frost-dusted deck. Their expressions were sombre, heads bent together.

“Looks serious,” Melissa commented.

“They’ve been having more and more of these _Talks_ lately,” the Sheriff said, sounding vaguely concerned, “I can’t tell if things are getting more serious or if they’re drifting.”

Scott ducked his head a little. “It’s best not to pry,” he said softly, and the Sheriff gave a curt nod, and turned up the volume of the movie. From the corner of his eye, Derek saw Stiles getting up to pace the deck, and Malia watching with sad eyes. There was nothing bitter about the conversation, whatever Stiles was saying she seemed to be in agreement. Derek wanted to agree with Scott and say he didn’t want to pry, but _god_ he really wanted to know what was happening out there. It was taking most of his will not to listen in on the conversation.

Eventually, near the end of the movie, Malia got up and she and Stiles hugged for a long time, before she came back inside and left him out on the patio.

“I’m gonna crash for the night. Melissa, your yams were amazing. Thank you so much for the gift.”

“No problem, sweetheart,” Melissa smiled, getting up to hug her. Scott said nothing, but hugged her too, pressing his cheek to hers softly, his nose to her temple. Then she hugged the Sheriff and pecked him on the cheek, and then she was gone.

Derek prided himself on the fact that he managed to wait another ten minutes before stepping out on to the patio to see Stiles. He was huddled up in the corner on the patio bench, a small glass of wine held in his shaking hands. 

“You’ll catch your death of cold,” Derek said, trying not to wince at how utterly _lame_ that sounded. Stiles, however, cracked a smile.

“It would be a pity to die of _cold_ after everything.”

Derek sighed softly, shucking his jacket. He draped it over Stiles’ shoulders, who slumped (snuggled, really) into it as Derek sat down next to him on the bench.

“You alright? Haven’t seen you since dinner finished.”

“We broke up,” Stiles said, somewhat of a non-sequitur. 

“Oh.”

“It’s a good thing, though. I promise.”

Derek cleared his throat as he tried to decide between saying what he thought would comfort Stiles, or saying what he _wanted_ to say. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said with conviction, his voice squeaking, “Yeah, we’re—we both got attached very quickly and then we both got… detached. Very quickly.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Derek said, honestly.

“We jumped into it, and it was fun, but a lot of things were happening while _we_ were happening,” Stiles took a drink from his glass, rubbed his nose, “Now that everything has quietened down, we’ve had to settle too, and it’s… I don’t think it’s what either of us wanted or expected.”

Derek, unsure how to reply verbally,simply nodded empathetically. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“That’s usually how it happens.”

Stiles looked over at him sharply, before realisation dawned on his pretty, cold-flushed features.

“Braeden,” he said, softly. Derek shrugged.

“I’m just saying, Stiles, it happens. Don’t worry about it. And if you think it’s for the best, then it must be.”

Stiles nodded sinking deeper into Derek’s jacket, frowning at his wine glass as he downed the last of it.

“Hey, do you wanna sneak me another glass of wine?”

“Not really,” Derek smirked, and Stiles’ face fell.

“C’mon. I just broke up with my super hot girlfriend.”

“Your dad said you could have _one drink_.”

“Yes, and so far I’ve had _three_.”

Derek laughed, turning his body to get a proper look at Stiles, curled up in a leather jacket that still sat a little too large on even Derek’s shoulders. His face was smiling, glowing with cold and alcohol, but underneath that all lay an underlying hint of sadness.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, gently.

“What? Yeah!” Stiles said, a little too eagerly. “Yeah, it’s. It’s fine. I mean… I loved her. I _love_ her, I always will. But it’s…”

Stiles trailed off, biting his lip, and suddenly his shoulders sunk. He didn’t look even half as convinced anymore.

“It’s fine,” he whispered, when it was obvious to Derek that it wasn’t fine at all.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**[ 1 9 9 2 // F e b r u a r y ]**

Usually, Claudia was greeted at the door of the Hale house before she’d even had the chance to knock on the door, so to hear the sharp echo of her knuckles against the wood was a uncomfortable feeling.

“Hello? Hey, it’s me,” she called, bouncing on one foot and then the other, wrapping her arms around her torso to fight the chill. “It’s really cold out h-”

The door swung open, cutting Claudia off mid sentence, as she was faced with none other than Peter Hale, quite frankly the last person she _ever_ wanted to see. Claudia regarded him warily, taking a step back from the door.

“Peter,” she frowned, shifting uneasily.

“Claudia,” he smirked, eyeing her from the doorframe, “Well don’t look so happy to see me.”

Claudia rolled her eyes and dropped her arms down to her sides defiantly.

“Is Talia here?”

“She’s speaking with Mother in the study,” Peter said, with a great air of disdain. “I’ve been told to offer you hot _tea_ of all things.”

Claudia smiled at his. While the wolves didn’t feel the cold much, Talia was always very aware of the needs of those who did.

“I’d like some tea,” she said, softly, and Peter stood back from the door, motioning for her to come in. In the past six years, Claudia had been inside the Hale house many times, and still it never failed to leave her in awe. While all rooms were large and majestic, she found the kitchen to be her favourite. It’s wide open space and warm tones were much more welcoming than the stately looking hallways.

At the large, oak kitchen table, Derek was propped up over a book, a pencil tucked behind his ear. Claudia couldn’t have stifled her laugh if she tried.

“You look so studious.” She commented, affectionately rubbing a hand over Derek’s hand as she passed him by. Peter scoffed.

“Too wise for his own good,” he said, dryly, as he put on the kettle, “Derek is beyond his years. He had his first beta shift this moon, actually. Quite early for his age.”

Derek glared.

“Hey,” Claudia shot a finger gun at him, “Don’t make that face. If the wind changes, you might stay that way.”

Derek’s face turned skeptical. “That’s not _possible_.”

“Hey werewolf,” Claudia deadpanned, poking his chest playfully with her finger gun, “how do _you_ know what’s possible and what’s not? Huh?”

Derek’s face twisted with vague worry, before he rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

“Can you actually read?” she asked.

“I’m seven. Not an idiot.”

Incredulous laughter bubbled up inside Claudia as she looked back at Peter, to find him grinning down at the tea he was brewing. Sometimes, she reminded herself, Peter wasn’t actually so terrible.

“Derek, please never change,” Claudia laughed, as Peter held out a mug for her. “Thanks Petey.”

“Don’t call me that,” Peter said breezily, “Derek, why don’t you go bother Laura and let the adults converse.”

Derek sighed heavily as he gathered up his book and stomped out of the kitchen, and Claudia watched him go with a pout.

“He’s so cute,” she mused, leaning back against the counter. Peter leaned in close.

“It’s a little early to be getting broody, isn’t it? You’re still in college.”

Claudia sighed, taking a step back to reclaim her space.

“I’m not getting _broody_ , I just think kids are cute. Which is fortunate considering, _hello_ , training to be a teacher here.”

Peter nodded as if he was very interested in the subject, sliding closer again, and Claudia sighed inwardly. It was one of _those_ days.

“And how are you finding college this year?”

“Um,” Claudia took a long drink from her cup and shrugged one shoulder, “It’s tough. We’re doing work placements to get used to the kind of energy that’s needed for the job. There’s not a lot of social life if I’m going to be honest.”

“Lack of social life, huh? I bet that gets lonely.”

“I enjoy my own company, actually. I don’t mind being alone.”

“Oh, but it _must_ get boring.”

“I find ways to entertain myself.”

“But don’t you ever think how nice it’d be to have some company?” Peter probed, lifting his mug to her, almost as if he was toasting. Claudia stayed quiet, biting the inside of her cheek as she searched her brain desperately for a change of topic. Before he started asking about relationships. Before she had to shoot him down again.

“How are _your_ studies going?” she eventually asked.

“Oh you know,” Peter smiled, “They’re not. I’m taking a year off to do some travel. Just got back from India, you know.”

“You do look tanned,” Claudia bluffed, uninterested really.

“It’s a very beautiful country.”

“I’m sure.”

“But travelling alone gets very lonely, Claudia. I often think it’d be much more _enjoyable_ if there was someone to share the experience with.”

“Ah, hmm,” Claudia hummed, hiding her face in her mug.

“I take it there’s no one special in your life.”

“Nope,” Claudia said lightly, ignoring the way Peter’s eyebrow lifted up as if he had been listening for the lie when she told it.

“You don’t have your eye on anyone?” he asked, carefully. Now _that_ \- that was a harder question to ignore.

“Well. There’s someone. There has been for quite some time,” she admitted, quietly. “But I don’t think either of us have the time. At least, I don’t.”

“You should _make_ the time,” Peter murmured, significantly closer than Claudia remembered him being. She took a sharp step backwards, brow furrowing as she frowned at him.

“Peter, please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he purred, the tone of his voice making her feel nauseous. 

“I’d just like to have one conversation with you where you don’t turn it into a sleazy come on.”

“If you don’t try, you won’t succeed.”

“You’re never _going to_ succeed, Peter. So drop it. You’re not my type.”

“Then what _is_ your type, Ms Podolzky?” Peter asked, straightening his posture as his voice sharpened. The predatory look in his eyes that seemed to appear whenever they were alone only intensified.

“The _good_ guys, Peter, I like the good guys, I _need_ a good guy. Someone to keep me on track. Someone not like you.”

Peter went quiet, setting his mug down on the countertop behind him.

“The deputy,” he said softly, and Claudia almost dropped her tea, feeling her face heat up. “You mean him?”

“I— That’s—” Claudia began to stammer, shaking her head. “That’s really none of your business.”

Peter nodded, rolling his shoulders with an air of nonchalance.

“True,” he said tersely. “I’ll go see if Talia is nearly finished. It’d be rude of her to keep you waiting.” 

With that, Peter strode out of the kitchen, leaving Claudia feeling distinctly cold in his wake. It wasn’t a few minutes later when Talia swept in, smiling.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, hun. Was Peter harassing you again? He’s such a brat, I don’t know how you put up with him,” she shook her head curtly. “I mean he’s my brother, and he’s pack, but— _yes_ , I know you can hear me, Peter.”

Claudia covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her laugh, and Talia rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, sit down. Tell me about college,” she pulled out a chair for Claudia, the one Derek had vacated earlier, “We have _so much_ to catch up on.”

/ / /

**[ 2 0 1 3 // J a n u a r y ]**

Stiles swore he saw a cloud of dust puff out from the stack of books Scott unceremoniously dumped onto his kitchen table. He wrinkled his nose.

“Dude I know you’re over your asthma and everything but if I go through all these books, _I’m_ going to be the one having an attack.”

“They’re not that bad,” Scott said, sniffling slightly, “Plus, my nose is more sensitive to dust than yours-”

“Bullshit,” Stiles grumbled, as Lydia wedged herself between them to get a proper look at the books Scott had brought home.

“I should be able to go through Latin and French texts. Scott, you’re going through the Spanish, right?”

“Right.” Scott nodded.

Lydia’s nose scrunched up as she eyed the third pile. “Polish?”

Stiles raised his hand weakly. “That’s me.”

“I didn’t know you knew Polish,” Lydia said, sounding impressed. “I’m suddenly second guessing my dismissal of our romantic relationship.”

“Aw, babe,” Stiles mocked, clutching at his chest. “That means so much to me.”

Lydia looked as if she was trying to suppress a laugh as she dug her knuckles into his ribs playfully, before they both turned their attention back to the pile of books that Scott was sorting out into stacks for each of them.

“Seriously though,” Stiles interrupted, “I’m making no promises. I used to _speak_ the language on occasion, not write it. And it’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“It looks pretty hard, dude,” Scott grimaced. “This is probably the first time I’ve ever doubted your skills.”

Stiles’ glared at him, unimpressed, and then picked up the dustiest book, at the top of the pile. He held it up, blew the dust from the cover in Scott’s direction.

“Bro. Shut up.”

/ / /

It was six hours later, when Lydia had gone home to bed (promising she’d be back in the morning), and Scott was asleep on the sofa on top of one of his texts, that Stiles heard the back door click open. Instantly, he was on guard.

“Hello?” he croaked, ready to jump to his feet and bludgeon whatever the hell was sneaking in at 3am, with his book. Then again, if Scott hadn’t woken yet, there obviously wasn’t much of a threat.

“Hey,” Derek poked his head around the corner, looking around for a minute until he spotted Stiles on the floor with his back to the wall. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just some light reading,” Stiles shrugged, held up his three-inch-thick volume on Polish spirits. He was pretty sure it was actually just a book about vodka, and not supernatural spirits they were looking for. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Scott texted me. Said he needed some Spanish help or something.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you can-” Stiles waved his hand in Derek’s direction. “-eggroll.”

Derek looked at him blankly for a moment, before his face suddenly split into a wide, open grin, and Stiles’ stomach twisted - not exactly unpleasantly, but in a way that still bothered him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He almost didn’t recognise this Derek, in comparison to the one they met in the preserve two years ago, and maybe this bothered him.

“Um, Scott’s asleep,” Stiles offered, using the wall to pull himself into a standing position, open book held to his chest with one arm. He groaned, pulling his ankle up to stretch, and didn’t miss the way Derek watched when he arched his back into it.

“I guessed,” Derek replied, a little hoarse.

“I, uh,” he put the book down on the table next to Derek, who leaned in over his shoulder to have a look. It wasn’t exactly the first time Derek had encroached upon his space, but Stiles’ back tensed regardless. “I could make you coffee if you want. Or tea, I don’t know. Or you could go home, there’s no real reason for you to stay-”

“You know you’re reading about vodka, right?”

“I had a feeling,” Stiles sighed, and then- “Wait. You can read Polish?”

“Almost as well as I read Spanish,” Derek shrugged a shoulder. “ _I speak it too,”_ he said, in fluid, perfect Polish. 

Suddenly Stiles’ throat closed up, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, pulling back sharply. It was like there was water in his ears, behind his eyes. Just the tone, the inflection of Derek’s voice, the way the syllables sounded in his mouth, _god_. 

Derek’s face fell. “Stiles? Are you- what’s wrong?”

Stiles just shook his head, hating the way tears immediately sprung to his eyes.

“God, I’m sorry. I’m being stupid. I-”

“Hey,” Derek frowned, stepping in close to Stiles, his eyes softening, “It’s not stupid if it gets you this upset this quickly. What did I do?”

“I uh, Christ, this is so dumb,” Stiles floundered, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, suddenly feeling the anchoring touch of Derek hands against his biceps. “No one has spoken Polish to me since my mom, so.”

Derek went very quiet, allowing Stiles to pull himself together, to breathe through the tiny surge of panic he’d been sitting on all evening. When he opened his eyes, Derek was watching him with a very pensive expression, his mouth a soft, even line.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t know.”

“It’s— it’s okay,” Stiles said, his voice sounding weak to even his own ears, “It was kind of nice, however brief. To hear it again. ”

Derek nodded, gave Stiles’ arm a gentle squeeze as he moved back.

“Do you want me to help with the research?”

Stiles nodded, “That’d be great, actually. I have a feeling I was on the right track before I got distracted by the vodka book. I don’t read it as well as I speak it.”

“Hey. How about _I_ make _you_ some coffee?” Derek asked, and Stiles nodded again, following him into the kitchen with a new book, and taking a seat at the island.

“Please. _Strong_. Cream-”

“‘-Not milk. metric fuckton of sugar,’” Derek said, sounding like he was quoting Stiles himself. “I know.”

/ / /

“Stiles.”

Stiles lifted his head from the table top, as he felt a hand against his shoulder blade, turning his head to see Scott crouched next to him on the kitchen floor. He looked tired, but alert, and Stiles could tell it was early morning by the light filtering in across Scott’s broad shoulders.

“Hey,” Stiles croaked.

“Hey man. I gotta go to work, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, too tired to move, too warm and heavy.

“You guys shouldn’t stay at the table. Grab the couch or my bed upstairs or something, okay? Get some rest.”

“Alrighty,” Stiles snuffled, not really listening, feeling like he was sinking right into the pages of the book beneath his face. He heard Scott’s soft snort of laughter, the the back door closing, and the latch clicking shut. It was the rumbling of the engine of Scott’s bike that brought back something that Scott had said to him. _You guys_.

Stiles blinked himself awake, fully this time, only starting to register the warm weight across his back and shoulders when he tried to sit up. He turned his head to the other side, wincing at the crick in his neck, squeaking in surprise as he found Derek’s face just inches from his. Further exploration showed it was Derek’s arm slung across Stiles’ shoulders. Despite the awkward position, still both sitting slumped over the table, they were almost _spooning_.

And Stiles found, he didn’t really mind.

Sure, he and Derek had had their differences in the past, but they were good now. They were almost _close_ now. Yes, they still had spats and disagreements, but Stiles couldn’t help but see Derek in a new light. Stiles knew now that anything Derek had to say, was only ever said with the best intentions, with an undercurrent of concern. Even in his sleep, Derek was caring, practically draping himself over Stiles like a safety blanket.

Stiles knew they shouldn’t stay at the table, but he didn’t exactly want to move. Not without Derek, anyway.

“Hey, Derek.” Stiles’ movement was pretty limited, so he made do with reaching out to prod Derek’s thigh with his finger. “Wake up, big guy. C’mon.”

Derek abruptly lifted his head, hair flattened on one side, his right cheek pink and creased high up on the cheekbone from the page of the book beneath them. Almost reflexively, his arm tightened around Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles squawked as he was dragged closer.

“Oh,” Derek said after a moment of looking at Stiles, utter confusion written on his face, and then he exhaled a sheepish “sorry”, as he pushed his chair back from the table.

“Let’s just move to the couch, okay?” Stiles said, coolly, and he’d probably never admit aloud to the faint separation anxiety he felt the further away Derek moved.

_You’re still not used to being single again,_ he tried to convince himself, _it’s still hard to sleep alone._

“Couch,” Derek said, faintly, before nodded his head slowly, “Yeah. Let’s.”

_What’s a little cuddling between bros,_ Stiles reasoned, making his way into the living room. He and Scott did it all the time; sleepovers, sharing beds and blankets, sharing space. Derek couldn’t be all that different, could he?

“We can do it,” he muttered, under his breath. Derek froze, midway through pulling the afghan off the back of the sofa. His eyes narrowed at Stiles for a moment, before he straightened up, his expression falling into neutral territory, an unreadable mask that made Stiles’ feel nervous, anxiety like taut knots in the pit of his stomach.

“Maybe I should just head home, Stiles,” Derek said, softly. The _if you’re uncomfortable_ was implied.

“I didn’t mean-” Stiles began, cutting off a futile excuse. “Please don’t.”

Derek looked down at the blanket in his hands, and then back up at Stiles. The last time they’d really seen each other, had time to talk, was Christmas at Stiles’ house. Over coffee and translating was the first time in a long time that Stiles had gotten to see Derek up close, scrutinising how tired and worn he’d seemed. Now, with Derek looking at him across the dim living room of the McCall’s house, Stiles felt more open and naked than he ever had before in front of Derek.

“You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?” Derek asked, although his voice intonedit more like a statement. Stiles chewed the inside of his lip as he studied his feet, and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“It’s hard. Being with someone like that, for so long, and then not having it any more.”

Derek sat down on the arm of the sofa, hands folded in his lap.

“After the fire, I didn’t sleep properly for months. I know it’s different for you and Malia, because it was romantic, because you love her-” (Stiles appreciated the use of love in present tense, thinking he’d always love Malia, just differently now.) “-but, I know. I’ve felt that too. It feels like something’s missing.”

“I feel bare,” Stiles admitted, voice catching in his throat - from emotion or tiredness, he didn’t know. “It’s like, no matter how many layers I wear, no matter how many blankets I wrap around me, I’m bare. There’s nothing there to hold me together.”

Derek’s expression was less neutral, more soft and contemplative now. It gave Stiles a spark of hope.

“Is that crazy?” he asked. “It feels crazy.”

Derek shook his head minutely, and then moved from the arm of the couch to sitting on it.

“C’mere. Get some sleep.”

Stiles sucked in a breath, taking a moment to let the idea of sleeping - napping - with Derek wash over him. It didn’t feel like something weird or out of the ordinary. It felt like natural progression, like an understanding, like a connection.

But then, he’s always felt connected to Derek. In a way he just can’t put his finger on.

Stiles knocked off his trainers by the foot of the couch with Derek’s boots, lay down as Derek arranged the blanket around them and opened up his arms.

The next time he woke, Lydia was standing over him, with her phone in her hand and a triumphant grin on her face.

“Perfect. That’s totally going on Twitter,” she said, loftily, and sent Stiles a brief smile as she breezed through to the kitchen. Stiles craned his neck to see Melissa McCall standing in the doorway in lilac scrubs, an eyebrow raised in disbelief; he could feel Derek’s arms around him, breath on the back of his neck. He didn’t really care.

“Morning,” he croaked.

Melissa snorted. “Goodnight,” she said, before heading for the stairs.

/ / /

**[ 1 9 9 2 // F e b r u a r y ]**

Claudia did a double take when she caught sight of what Derek was reading.

“That…” she narrowed her eyes, “That’s in Polish.”

“Yes, Derek is learning Polish, Spanish, French, and will probably move onto German when he’s older,” Talia smiled, beckoning Derek closer, as he hid his face in his book. It was his shyness, his humbleness, that endeared him most to Claudia.

“He’s seven,” she said, sounding awed.

“He’s very bright,” Talia said fondly, ruffling her son’s hair.

“Isn’t it an awful lot for such a young boy?”

Derek huffed, sounding exasperated, and looking thoroughly embarrassed when his mother reeled him in for a hug and some tickling. Eventually, she gently nudged him away, and Derek took the chance to escape again with his book. He’d returned to the kitchen for a glass of milk, and gotten roped into the conversation.

Claudia watched him go, thinking maybe she _did_ want children after all.

“It _is_ a lot,” Talia agreed, after a few moments of silence, “but it’s very important. There are people who hunt our kind, and they come from all over. They don’t always speak English. They don’t always want to hear us explain. They don’t always let us plead.”

Claudia nodded, staring solemnly into her quickly cooling cup of coffee.

“It’s very important to me that I educate my children, that they know how to protect themselves without resorting to violence. They have to be fierce, but they don’t have to be monsters.”

Claudia didn’t need to be a wolf to feel the authority in Talia’s voice. She was an Alpha through and through, and Claudia was pack.

“I could help him, you know. With Polish.”

“I know,” Talia smiled, her eyes softening, “But right now you need to focus on your studies. We know you’re always here for us when we need you.”

“I never really thought about it until now,” Claudia mused, “but I think if I was to have a child, I guess I’d have to speak Polish to them. I mean, yeah. Of course I would.”

“Be proud of your heritage, Pods,” Talia said, teasingly, knowing how riled up Claudia could get when talking about her family, “You could even give them a traditional Polish name. Name them after your father.”

Claudia snorted, “Oh god. Poor kid. I know I joke about it all the time, but… _Zbigniew._ Never.”

“Hope you have a girl first so you can name her after your mother,” Talia grinned.

“I don’t know, I kind of like Jayne-with-a-Y for a boy…” Claudia trailed off, getting lost in thought, eyes unfocused on her coffee cup again. Talia barely managed to hold in her snort.

“Poor kid,” she echoed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter in the end notes.

**[ 2 0 1 3 // M a r c h & A p r i l ]**

“I like girls,” was what Stiles blurted out, without even a greeting first, as he practically spilled himself into Lydia’s bedroom. _No going_ back, he thought, pointedly. However, the lady in question didn’t even look up from her magazine.

“I’m extremely aware of that,” she said.

Stiles’ hands clenched into fists with frustration, as he sucked in a breath in order to punch out, “and I like guys too.”

_That_ , at least, made Lydia pause.

“Not what I was expecting but… somehow I’m not surprised.”

Stiles knelt down beside her bed, folding his arms on the edge and resting his head down on them. Depending on what he said next and how Lydia reacted to it, this conversation could get difficult, and far deeper than he was ready for. He could feel his heart beating in his throat, shaking his words as they left his mouth. 

“So tell me,” he said, voice cracking “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

Lydia closed her magazine and set it aside, a deep frown contorting her mouth as she twisted around to look at her friend. Stiles’ eyes flicked up, almost flinching at her look of concern. 

“That didn’t come out the way I meant it to,” he explained, miserably, burying his face in his arms.

“You know it’s okay, right? You know… that this is a completely legitimate way to feel.”

“I _do_ know. But it feels — I always thought I liked girls. I know I like girls. Lately I feel… I want more. I feel like I changed.”

Lydia sighed heavily but fondly, climbing off of the bed to sit next to Stiles on the floor.

“I don’t need to give you the ‘sexuality is fluid’ speech, do I?”

Stiles stared at her blankly, his stomach twisting.

“This isn’t a crisis or anything. I swear,” he said, weakly.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Lydia looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and she reached over to grab his hand. Stiles picked at the thread of his pants,.

“I just want to be myself.”

“You can be whatever the hell you want. You can be heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, asexual, there are _many_ sexualities. And it’s not just sex, either. Your romantic feelings work that way too.”

Stiles closed his eyes tight, letting his head loll against the bed as Lydia’s words washed over him. He already knew all this. He kind of hated himself for doing this — saying these things. He sounded like a walking cliché. 

“Have you actually been with a boy yet?” Lydia asked, breaking through Stiles’ dangerous train of thought. “Kissed one, even?”

“You say that like you’ve never seen me and Scott drunkenly make out.”

“Scott doesn’t count,” Lydia grinned, “Although, it’s absolutely fantastic when you guys do that.”

“I haven’t kissed any guys,” Stiles said, quickly, getting back on track, “I can count the number of people I’ve kissed on one hand, Lydia.”

“So, Me, Malia, _Scott_ …?”

“That girl, Caitlin,” Stiles said, quietly, his voice catching before he could even say—

“and Heather,” Lydia finished, her voice soft. Stiles nodded, pursing his lips.

“That’s all of them,” he whispered.

“It’s your birthday soon, Stiles. April 8th, right? Perfect opportunity to go out and find someone.”

“I don’t want to go to Jungle,” Stiles winced, “Gross.” 

“There are _much_ better places to get you a man than at Jungle,” Lydia said, looking almost offended at the thought, making Stiles stifle a loud snort into his arm. “That place is like chlamydia through a straw. Just leave it to me, okay? I’ll arrange a night out for us all.”

“Okay,” Stiles smiled weakly, leaning in to drop his head against Lydia’s shoulder. She put her arm around his shoulder, tugging him into a side hug, before gently pushing him off.

“Well, now that you’re here, I say we sneakily break out a bottle of wine and watch a movie, yes?”

Stiles grinned. “You are _so_ brilliant, Lydia Martin.”

“Say it loud, say it _proud_ , Stilinski.”

/ / /

“These are the tightest pants I’ve ever worn,” Stiles said happily, slouching in the back of the taxi.

“You look good,” Lydia agreed, tapping out a text on her phone. “You’re welcome.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, and occupied himself by patting down his pockets to make sure he had his phone. Lydia had promised he didn’t need to bring money, and so it was the only thing he’d brought out with him. He was counting on having many drinks bought for him. He hadn't even brought his fake ID.

“Who did you invite?” he asked Lydia, who paused her texting in order to look up at him.

“Just our gang and a few people from school. I talked to Derek but he made no promises,” Lydia said, looking thoughtful. Stiles felt a pang of disappointment; he’d wanted Derek to be there.

“Oh. Cool. Hey, are we here?” he asked, leaning over to peer out the window.

“We’re here,” Lydia said, unfastening her belt, sitting forward to pay the taxi driver as Stiles climbed out and smoothed out his clothes. He’d let Lydia dress him for the occasion (granted, he only agreed after she had plied him with pre-drinks), in tight jeans, boots, and a barely-buttoned-up black shirt. Less is more, she’d said.

Stiles had barely even straightened up before he was hearing his name being called, and Scott was barrelling down the sidewalk, followed by Kira, Liam, Malia, Mason, and a few others who tolerated him in school. Scott, old reliable, threw himself at Stiles once he got in range, followed by the rest of the gang; they swamped him, all screeching happy birthday at various pitches and volumes. It was hard to disentangle himself from them.

“…Is this a gay bar?” Malia asked after a moment, eyeing the line of men outside of the club.

“Sure is,” Stiles said, nodding his head, “Oh, that reminds me.”

Laughing, Stiles reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a thick wad of folded paper. He began to unfold it, eventually revealing a purple banner with the word ‘Bisexual!’ written on it in big pink, blue and gold letters. There was a brief moment of silence from everyone.

“… _Lydia_ ,” Stiles hissed.

Lydia groaned, reached into her own pocket, and threw out a handful of gold confetti over Stiles’ head. ‘Tah _dah_ …” she added, with a hint of exasperation.

Stiles turned around, waving his sign at the line waiting outside the club, getting a few cheers in return.

“Are you done?” Lydia asked.

“That was anti-climactic, and about as flamboyant as I’ll ever get,” Stiles flung his sign away, brushing some confetti off his shoulders. “You all knew already, didn’t you?”

There was a chorus of yeses and nodding, and Stiles pouted as Scott, Liam and Mason all dragged him in for loud, exaggerated kisses on the cheek.

“So, we’re celebrating not only my birthday, but my newly _acknowledged_ sexuality.”

“You’re gonna have a good time,” Lydia assured him.

“I wanna give a blow job in a bathroom. Show me the glory holes.”

“ _No_ , Stiles.”

“How are we getting baby-face in here?” Stiles asked, gesturing at Liam, who almost shoved him into the gutter in retaliation.

“I’ve got it covered, Stiles,” Lydia said, hooking her arm through his, “Let’s just have fun tonight, okay?”

/ / /

Derek had been on the fence for hours about going to Stiles’ party. He was intrigued by the venue, he liked most of the people invited. He didn’t care that they’d be drinking despite being underage, and knew Lydia had devised a way of getting Scott and the other weresomethings drunk long ago. What he was worried about mostly, was letting his guard down around an intoxicated Stiles.

Stiles, quite plainly, got loose when he got drunk. Derek had seen it before; the easy way Stiles draped his body over Scott’s lap, the way he’d pawed relentlessly at Malia when they’d still been together, how tactile he became. How _silly_ he became. Derek had fallen for it before, but wouldn’t exactly call himself the victim.

“You do realise he’s you’ve talked about for the last ten minutes?” Cora asked, voice crackling and irritated over the phone line.

“Um,” Derek bit down on his lip, glad Cora couldn’t see the obvious way he blushed, the heat in his cheeks.

“If you guys are as close as you say you are now? He’d want you there.”

“He’ll be trashed,” Derek protested, “He won’t even know I’m there. I want him to— I don’t know. ” 

“Okay, first of all, Drunk Stiles is notoriously a lot of fun, and secondly, he will _know_ you’re there.”

Derek sighed, absently running his nail along the grain of the table under his hand.

“Jeez!” Cora shouted, and Derek had to pull the phone away from his ear, “Just go have some _fun_. It’s his eighteenth birthday. _Eighteen._ ”

And somehow, that was all it had taken for Derek to decide he would go out.

_Golden_ was one of the slightly more respectable gay clubs in the nearby region. It was fairly clean, but it had its dark corners and its bathroom stalls. Derek didn’t have a problem getting in, or even finding the gang once he got inside.

Stiles was on the dance floor, between Lydia and Mason. He was dancing, smiling distractedly as he looked around over their heads. It wasn’t late yet, not long past midnight, but he already looked obscene. Derek didn’t mind letting his gaze linger at the flush of Stiles’ cheeks when the lights hit him just right, the dark red of his mouth when he pulled his lower lip into his mouth. It seemed as if he was looking for someone, but Derek didn’t get his hopes up.

He found Scott and Kira sitting at a booth on the edge of the floor, both of them looking surprised and excited to see him. Scott stood up for a hug, easy with his affection, like he was just gone past the point of tipsy.

“Do you want drink?” Kira asked him, but was gone to the bar to get one before he could even answer.

“Is Stiles enjoying himself?” Derek asked over the music, close to Scott’s ear.

“Hell yeah!” Scott laughed, “We got him a badge that says ‘kiss me, it’s my birthday’ so, he’s _very_ happy. He’ll be even happier now you’re here.”

Derek shrugged a shoulder, and Scott leaned into his ear to continue speaking.

“You missed his coming out, earlier. It was funny, he had a banner and confetti. Lydia hated it.”

“Coming out?” Derek asked, confused.

“Stiles is embracing his appreciation of men as well as women.”

“I thought he was already… _out_. I thought he was bi anyway.”

“Yeah, same. I just don’t think he’d ever said it out loud, and he wanted to make it clear,” Scott laughed, pulling away as Kira returned with a tray of drinks for them, and passed off a tall glass of clear liquid to Derek.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Triple vodka! You need to catch up!” she grinned, and sprinkled something pale blue over the top of his glass.

_Have some fun_ , Cora’s voice echoed, as Derek downed the whole drink at once, and it was like drinking paint thinner but he really didn’t care. He’d just placed the glass back down on the table, when Stiles slid into his lap.

“You’re here,” Stiles grinned, eyes wide, hands on Derek’s cheeks. Over his shoulder, he could see Lydia taking a seat, Malia and Liam now dancing with Mason. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me here,” Derek shrugged.

“I always want you,” Stiles said, earnestly, smoothing his hands down Derek’s chest. Derek watched a bead of sweat trickle down his neck, the front of his shirt half unbuttoned, hanging open. On Stiles’ collar there was a large yellow button professing that he needed to be kissed, it was his birthday. Derek was _so_ tempted.

“Do you like my badge?” Stiles asked, grinning, pulling back to show Derek the button in question. “I’ve kissed so… _so_ many people.”

It took an awful lot for Derek not to growl audibly at that comment, and then he realised his hands were already on Stiles’ waist, squeezing gently, pulling him in. He was already feeling territorial. It felt like the triple vodka kicking in. It felt like he needed another drink.

“I’m not surprised,” he heard himself say, “You look good. And the button is very convincing.”

Stiles grinned, biting his lip like maybe he was thinking about kissing Derek too. They could do it, Derek reasoned, already leaning in a little, when suddenly there were hands on Stiles’ shoulders and rubbing down his arms, and a face next to his.

“There you are!” the guy shouted, and Stiles laughed aloud delightedly, leaning back into the touch. “Thought I’d lost you. Would have been _such_ a shame.”

And then the guy pressed a kiss to Stiles’ jaw, just below his ear, and nipped at his earlobe.

“This is Connor,” Stiles said, his hands still on Derek’s chest, his head tilted a little to give _Connor_ a little more room for kisses and nibbles. “He’s a really good dancer.”

“Speak for yourself,” Connor smacked a loud kiss on Stiles’ cheek. “Who’s your hottie friend?”

Stiles, grinning, brushed his thumb over Derek’s chin, the pad barely glancing over his bottom lip. His eyes were slightly glazed, his mouth open in thought.

“This is my buddy, Derek.”

_Buddy_.

“Hey Derek, do you mind if I steal the birthday boy away for a little while?”

_Yes_.

“Go ahead,” Derek shrugged, “I was just gonna get another drink anyway.”

“You better get me one too when I come back,” Stiles teased, gently removing himself from Derek’s lap, but not before planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’m so happy you’re here. Seriously, I’ll be back. Don’t go,” he begged, even as Connor was dragging him away from the group and out onto the dance-floor.

“I won’t,” Derek promised, sounding put out even to his own ears. Because Stiles was drunk, and dancing with boys, and kissing everyone who wasn’t Derek.

Without missing a beat, Kira got up from her seat.

“I’ll get you another drink. Or three.”

So, Derek was thoroughly plastered by the time he made it out onto the dance floor. For a guy who grew up essentially unable to even get tipsy, this wasn’t exactly a good thing. Scott decided it absolutely necessary to hold Derek’s hand, despite Derek’s protests that he was a grown ass man, and _you’re not my alpha_. Scott snorted, and brushed it off with a gentle squeeze around Derek’s fingers.

They found Stiles dancing with the same guy. Con… something. _Conman_ , Derek’s drunken-and-hilariously-witty mind supplied. _What a dick_. He didn’t like this guy _at all_. He didn’t like his crooked smile, his stupidly well groomed beard (that was a lie — Derek always appreciated good facial hair), and Derek especially didn’t like the way his fingertips tucked so neatly into the waistband at the front of Stiles’ jeans.

(He even hated the way Stiles grinned, his head lolling back against Connor’s shoulder, covering Connor’s hand with his.)

“Maybe we should just—” Scott began to lead Derek away again, back towards the table where the birthday party was congregating.

“No,” Derek tugged back, a little petulantly, “I need to—” Derek didn’t even know how he was supposed to answer that question. He had no idea what he was going to do once he got there. He just _needed —_ he _needed_ to be with Stiles. Just to be next to him. He needed that guy to take his _hands off_ of Stiles.

“He looks like he’s enjoying himself, Derek,” Scott said, softly putting a hand on Derek’s back. The comfort in the touch was overwhelming for Derek, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t even move a muscle, eventually losing sight of Stiles and Connor when the crowds overwhelmed them. 

He could still hear Stiles’ heartbeat over the music.

“I know,” he said quietly, swallowing thickly and turning away from the last place where he had seen Stiles. “I hate it.”

/ / /

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles was frowning, as he heavily flopped down into the booth next to Lydia. He reached out to take Scott’s drink from the table, and sipped from it before setting it back down. “I told him I’d be back.”

“Uh,” Scott looked around at the group and then back at Stiles, who looked so crestfallen it hurt. “I think he left, man. I’m sorry.”

“Why would he leave? I told him I’d be back,” Stiles repeated, slumping in his seat.

“I think…” Scott hedged, trying to be as delicate as possible, “I think he saw you with that guy, and _then_ left.”

Stiles’ face went very carefully blank, before he slowly keeled over sideways across Lydia’s lap, and stared at the ceiling.

“Stiles?”

“I’m doing it again,” he said.

Scott moved around the table to Stiles’ other side, lifting his best friend’s legs into his lap. Partially to comfort Stiles, partially so he wouldn’t have to strain his ears so much.

“Doing what again?” Scott asked, gently squeezing Stiles’ calf.

“Being an ass. Pushing Derek away. Again,” Stiles replied, blankly, and Lydia began gently brushing her fingers through his hair. “Just as we were working things out.”

“What’s going on with you two?” she asked, “This time last year you two could barely stay in the same room as each other.”

“A lot can happen in a year,” Stiles said, reaching for Lydia’s drink on the table, which she carefully nudged out of the way. In a matter of seconds, Stiles’ entire demeanour had changed right before their eyes. He didn’t look like he wanted to party at all anymore. He looked like he wanted to drink himself into a stupor.

“Can we go somewhere quieter and talk about this? It’s really hard to eavesdrop,” Mason shouted from behind them, and Stiles almost flailed off of Lydia’s lap, and nearly kicked Scott in the face in the process.

Stiles sat up, still a little wobbly and tipsy, looking around at the three of them, before nodding and pointing upwards.

“The smoking area upstairs.”

Scott looked around them, spotting Malia and Kira near the bar, trying to get Liam a drink. He made a gesture to let them know where he, Stiles, Lydia and Mason were going, and then grabbed Stiles’ hand to make sure he wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Mason had an arm around Lydia, already leading her towards the stairs up to the outdoor smoking area upstairs. 

Stiles was leaning heavily into Scott’s shoulder, and holding onto his bicep with his free hand, clingy in the way Stiles only got when he was feeling vulnerable. Even though he’d thought it a brilliant idea when Lydia had told him her plans, Scott now had to wonder if going to this club had been such a great idea after all. 

Up in the cooler smoking area, the bass beneath their feet, it was much easier to tell just how distraught the situation was making Stiles - no matter how well he was hiding it. Scott mostly ignored a couple fooling around the opposite corner, and instead settled down with Stiles (who was openly watching the very same couple) on a bench underneath the awning. Lydia and Mason took the bench opposite them, both waiting patiently for Stiles to begin speaking. 

Lydia prompted him by nudging the toe of her shoe against his shin.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles straightened up, rubbing his hand over his face as if to sober himself up, “So, I guess I like Derek.”

Despite it’s blunt delivery, the admission had no real effect on the group. Least of all, Scott. After a moment, Mason cleared his throat.

“Is this what prompted your big gay crisis?” he asked.

“ _Not_ what this is,” Stiles snapped, pointed his finger, “I know what I like. There is no _crisis_.”

An irritated expression crossed Lydia’s face, but it was gone before Scott could comment on it.

“Stiles,” Scott placated, getting a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing him gently. Time to get back on track. “What changed? What changed between you and Derek?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said, and then paused, scratching his face, “I mean, nothing huge. Everything changes all the time, we just changed with it.”

“Surprisingly profound for someone who’s consumed as much alcohol as you have,” Lydia said, a sharp smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just trying to figure out how you two grew from ignoring one another, to canoodling on Scott’s sofa. In less than a year too.”

“Doing _what_ on Scott’s sofa?” Mason asked, perking up considerably.

“ _Sleeping_ ,” Stiles insisted, frowning. “But see, that’s what I mean. We were totally snuggling on Scott’s couch.”

“Snuggling,” Scott repeated, lifting an eyebrow, and Lydia shared his smirk across from him.

“It’s a legit word,” Stiles protested, pulling his shirt tighter around him, and squirming closer to Scott to evade the cold. “I used to feel like there could be something between us. We were getting closer and listening to one another, and relying on one another. And then there was Void, and everything after, and we drifted. I had Malia, and he had Braeden, and that was that.”

Scott snaked an arm around Stiles’ shoulders again, tugging him in to his side, and squeezing gently.

“That’s why you two had that, like, feud last year?”

Stiles snorted at the word _feud_ and then nodded, rubbing his face again.

“I, selfish old me, felt abandoned. I felt like we had always been there for Derek, that _I_ had always been there for him, as much as he let me be. And when I needed him, he wasn’t there. The idiot that I am, I confronted him, and acted like a total baby about it.”

Lydia leaned forward, putting a hand on Stiles’ knee.

“I don’t think you overreacted, to be honest. You were misinformed. The reason you never saw Derek, was because he was trying so hard to save you when you’d been possessed. He was digging for information.”

“I know that _now_ ,” Stiles stressed, “We’re fine now. We had a truce. We made up. We cuddled. And I just went and fucked it up _again_. I am actually not meant for romance.”

“You said it yourself,” Scott reasoned, “You didn’t expect Derek to show up. None of us did. If you thought he’d want to come to your birthday, would you even have thought about coming here?”

“No,” Stiles said, instantly. “He’s like, older. Older than all of us. What twenty-seven year old wants to go hang out with a bunch of eighteen year olds who just wanna get drunk?”

“He wanted to hang out with _you,_ ” Mason said, quietly, and Stiles closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Scott felt the chill going right through him. “When he realised he wouldn’t get to do that, he left.”

For a minute, everyone was quiet, as Stiles sat up and hunched over, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

“You know what I gotta do?” he said.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“ _I_ gotta go to _him_ ,” Stiles announced.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mason said quickly.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” Lydia agreed.

“I’ll take you over to his in the morning,” Scott offered, rubbing Stiles’ back gently.

“No, I won’t want to do this in the morning. I need to tell him _now_.”

“Tell him what?” Lydia probed, warily.

Stiles shrugged, “That I don’t want to kiss all those other guys? Just him. I don’t know. I just want to be with him. Be next to him.”

After a moment, Lydia barked out a laugh, starling the three boys. Her gaze settled on Stiles, and she bit her lip, “…What _is it_ with you and the Hales?” 

Stiles looked as if he was about to try to answer her (although, Scott wasn’t sure how that question _could_ be answered) when Liam, Kira and Malia emerged from the stairwell onto the roof, Kira balancing a tray of drinks in her hands.

“Yo,” Malia greeted them, bouncing over and seamlessly dropped into Stiles’ lap, throwing her arm around his shoulders and hugging him. “You smell sad. And drunk.”

“You’re very good with that nose of yours,” Stiles said, “Because I am both sad and drunk.” (Scott had a hunch that Stiles was definitely not nearly as trashed as he was letting on, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to drink _less_ , or drink _more_.)

“Kira,” Malia said, craning her neck, “Vodka and coke me.”

“Vodka bad,” Stiles whined, as Kira passed the tall glass to Malia, and Malia guided the straw into Stiles’ mouth. (“More drunk. Less sad,” she said.) He didn’t protest much more than a baleful glare, even as he drank from the straw. Scott smiled, taking his own drink from Kira, and making space on the bench for her, between him, and Stiles and Malia. Liam was standing behind Mason, arms around his shoulders, swaying happily and drunkenly while Lydia fussed with the cuff of his shirt.

While everyone seemed happy and occupied, Scott still felt that something was obviously wrong.

“Stiles,” Scott said, softly, and Stiles turned, his lips still wrapped around his straw. Scott reached over across Kira to squeeze his knee. “Just focus on having fun tonight okay? It’s still early. And come morning, you might feel different about all this, yeah? You _have_ had a _lot_ to drink.”

“Drink schmink,” Stiles said around his straw. “I know how I feel.”

“Stiles.”

“Jeez, fine! I’ll have fun! Watch me,” Stiles protested and promised simultaneously, putting his finished drink aside and gently poking Malia’s thigh. “You. Dance with me.”

“You got it, bud,” Malia said, standing up, grabbing his hand and leading him back down the stairs into the club.

Kira, looking confused, watched them go, kicking her legs up on the space they’d vacated. 

“What was that?” she asked, turning on her hip towards Scott. Scott shrugged a shoulder, and rested his head against hers.

“Derek left,” Scott said, and Kira winced.

“Stiles is drowning his sorrows?”

“Yep.”

“Should we keep an eye on him?”

“Definitely.”

/ / /

Scott was asleep in Lydia’s bathtub. It wasn’t the first time, Stiles remembered fondly, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last. They were only a few months from graduation, from college even — and still, Stiles couldn’t imagine his life without Scott and Lydia. Without Kira, Malia, Liam and Mason. Without Derek.

He flipped over the packet of cigarettes in his hand, and sighed, rubbing his fingertip over the corner and down the side of it, the plastic cover crinkling over his touch.

“You gonna smoke one of those?” Lydia asked, from the door. She was barefoot now, her hair falling loose from it’s elegant up-style, eye-makeup just a little smudged, and she was still one of the most beautiful women Stiles had ever known. Two years ago, he knew she would have never let him see her like this.

“Thinking about it,” he shrugged. “Got a light?”

Lydia padded across the tiled floor to the nightstand locker by the bathtub. Stiles didn’t miss the fond look she gave a softly-snoring Scott in the bath, as she pulled open the top drawer of the locker, and took out a long-stemmed lighter.

“Share?” she asked, and Stiles smiled, nodding as he stood up to open the window, and unravelled the plastic from the pack of cigarettes. Really, he’d only bought them because he could, and didn’t plan on finishing a whole one by himself. In silence, Lydia lit the tip of it, and Stiles inhaled smoothly, blowing a stream of bluish smoke out the window. It wasn’t his first cigarette, but he didn’t make a habit, and he was never sure which would be his last.

Lydia plucked it from his fingers, copying his earlier actions by blowing the smoke out the window.

“You’re so full of shit, Stiles,” she said after a minute, her hand dangling out the window as she tipped some ash off the cherry of the cigarette.

“What?” Stiles asked, his lips turning down into a frown. Lydia looked up at him for a moment, her eyes flicking to Scott and then back out the window.

“When you came to me last week, you were acting like you were confused and having some sort of sexuality dilemma… but you’ve known all along that you’re in love with Derek.”

Stiles’ hand had been halfway to taking the cigarette back from Lydia when it fell down to his side, limply. He stared at her, brow furrowed.

“That’s… that’s not—” _love_.

“Don’t lie to me, Stiles,” Lydia said, her voice flat, “Not again.”

“I’m not— I didn’t—” Stiles floundered, before grunting and plucking the cigarette from Lydia’s fingers. After he’d taken a drag, he rubbed at his forehead with his fingers, trying to find a way to explain himself. “How did you know?” he eventually asked, instead.

“Mason said something that irked you. Something about Derek prompting your ‘Big Gay Crisis’, and you snapped at him. You said, ‘ _That’s not what this is. I know what I like’_ , and I realised.”

Stiles sighed, took another drag.

“So what _do_ you like, just to be clear?” Lydia asked.

“People,” Stiles said, easily, eyeing her up and down, “Green eyes and a confident walk. The ability to see through my bullshit.”

Lydia looked as if she was trying hard not to grin, so Stiles openly let himself. The boat for him and Lydia had sailed long ago, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still like to flirt occasionally.

“You know, I can think of at least one other person who fits that category,” Lydia smirked. Stiles’ smile slipped right off his face, and he hastily looked away, finishing the last of the cigarette and subbing it out in the sink. Lydia followed him with her eyes.

“So, how long have you been in love with Derek?” she asked.

“I’m not—” Stiles rubbed his hands over his face, “I’m not in love. It doesn’t feel like love.”

“Then what does it feel like?”

Stiles shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the tub near Scott’s feet. What he felt for Derek was hard to explain verbally. He’d been drunker and freer with his words back at the club, but now he had the time and presence of mind to consider what he said first.

“It feels like we’re connected in so many ways, that I can’t even put my finger on some of them. It’s like we’ve got so many ties between us that they’re all just one giant tangled ball of yarn we’re never getting out of. It feels like he’s _it_ , and he’s _there_ , but just out of reach. I can’t just reel him in. Not yet.”

Lydia smiled sadly, nodding her head as she reached out for him. Stiles took her hand, and she drifted closer.

“It’s like,” he swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat making the words difficult to push out, “we’re both holding our breath waiting for the other to say something, make the move. And you know, the longer you hold your breath, the more it hurts? It’s that.”

“If you already knew how you felt about this, why did you pretend you didn’t?” Lydia asked, tilting her head against his shoulder. Stiles considered lighting another cigarette, wondering if the smoke would sedate the anxiety, buzzing in his chest like a swarm of little bees.

“I didn’t want tonight to be like this— like this conversation. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want you all looking at me every time I tried to talk to _him_.”

Lydia lifted her head, and Stiles’ heart wrenched at the look of disappointment on her face.

“Don’t you trust us, Stiles?”

“Of course,” Stiles said, instantly.

“Then I’m disappointed that you didn’t trust us to respect your wishes.”

Stiles sagged into the wall, knuckling at his forehead in an attempt to relieve the tension between his brows. He felt tight all over, uncomfortable in his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly, “I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”

“Anyone could see there’s something there between you and Derek. Even with all the bickering and the arguing, there was always that spark of something else. And tonight’s display? Well, that was just ridiculous, wasn’t it?”

“Tonight’s display?” Stiles asked, confused.

“When you thought Derek wasn’t coming tonight, you pulled the first guy who even _slightly_ looked like Derek. That guy with the cheekbones and the beard, and the brown eyes—”

“Derek’s eyes aren’t _brown_ , they’re—” Stiles cut himself short as a grin spread wickedly across Lydia’s lips. “Shut up.”

After a moment of silence, Lydia stretched up on her toes to put her arms around Stiles’ shoulders and drag him in for a hug. Of course, Stiles’ natural reaction was to wrap his arms around her waist and lift her off her feet, squeezing her tightly. He wondered if he’d ever love another girl the way he loved Lydia; entirely unconditionally, from the moment he’d set eyes on her.

“I love you,” he told her, putting her down on her feet again, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lydia.”

“Oh stop,” she rolled her eyes, playfully pushing at his chest.

“I’m serious,” he implored her, “Scott’s been my best friend since we were kids, but I had to work to get you, and I’ve never once regretted all the stupid stuff I did while trying to get your attention. It got me here, it was worth the embarrassment.”

Lydia smiled up at him, eyes wet and her lips pressed together tightly.

“I love you too, Stiles,” she said, softly, cupping his cheeks with her hands as he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. 

“We should probably get some sleep, huh?” Stiles asked, the croak in his voice embarrassingly obvious. “All that alcohol is making us emotional.”

“Yeah,” Lydia nodded, surreptitiously wiping her eyes, “you want to share my bed?”

“Bro,” Scott said suddenly, lifting his head from the side of the bath and moaning weakly. Stiles sniggered, hiding his face in Lydia’s hair.

“Think I’m gonna stay in the tub with Scott. We’ve got a drunken tradition to uphold. But he’s a kicker, so I’ll probably join you later.

Lydia nodded, smiling and yawning as she extracted herself from Stiles’ embrace and tiptoed out of the bathroom, and into her room. Scott was staring sleepily up at Stiles, slouching further down into the bath.

“So… how much of that did you hear?” Stiles asked him, sitting down on the edge of the bath.

“Enough to wonder why Lydia’s getting all the love when your number one homie is right here, dude.”

“I seriously thought you were going to say ‘number one homo’ there.”

“Dude, shut up and get in the tub.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNINGS:** The teens get drunk in a club because it's Stiles' brithday, and have developed a way to get the weresomethings drunk as well. Derek also gets drunk but it's not something he's used to and he doesn't really react well. Stiles and Lydia later share a celebratory cigarette in her bathroom, but it's clear that it's not a habitual thing for either of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**[ 1 9 9 3 // F e b r u a r y ]**

Talia’s face was taut and nervous in a way Claudia had never seen before. Even back before she was Alpha, Talia had never seemed as small or afraid or worn as she did then. The house was uncharacteristically quiet.

“What’s happening?” Claudia asked, sitting down on the stairs facing the front door, “Where is everyone?”

“Adam brought the kids, Peter and Mom down to the lakehouse,” Talia said softly, her arms folded across her body. She didn’t seem to want to look at Claudia, her gaze roaming all around the foyer of the stately home. “I’m not sure it’s safe here,” she said, her tone distracted and vague.

Claudia wrapped her arms around her knees, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“You’re scaring me,” she said softly, and Talia’s head snapped towards her, her eyes softening apologetically.

“There are hunters in San Francisco,” Talia explained. “It’s far away, but not far enough. I met with the leader of their family today. They have a code, but he’s not exactly the straightest arrow in the quiver.”

Claudia lifted an eyebrow, smiled weakly.

“You want me to go kick some asses? Because I can do that.”

Talia smiled fondly and shook her head, slowly coming to take a seat next to Claudia on the stairs. This close, Claudia could see just how worried Talia truly was, the fear for her family visible in the creases around her eyes.

“I’m not sure you’re safe with us, anymore,” Talia said, and Claudia’s head whipped round in confusion.

“What? Why? I’m human, I’m—”

“You need to understand, Pods. Being human means nothing to them. You’re one of us, and if we do wrong in their eyes, so do you. I’ve heard stories. They use the human members of the pack against the wolves. You’re so much more mortal than us, so breakable.”

“What did you mean ‘they have a code’?” Claudia asked.

“It means they have rules. They don’t hunt wolves that don’t hunt them. By that code, we _should_ be safe.”

“But this guy, their leader or whatever, you think he’s crooked?” Claudia asked.

“He didn’t lie to me once. Not even a little white lie. But he didn't gave me one single straight answer,” Talia said, her eyes distant, as if she was reliving the whole encounter in her mind. “It felt like a threat.”

“And you’re scared,” Claudia asked. Talia sighed, sitting down on the stairs next to Claudia.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, rubbing her temple, and Claudia visibly perked up, her eyes wide.

“Talia, that’s—”

“It’s fantastic,” Talia agreed, smiling into her hands, “Wanting a large family is a natural thing for us, and I’ve wanted to give Laura and Derek another sibling for a long time. I was finally feeling safe enough, comfortable enough to do that.”

“And now, there are hunters,” Claudia concluded, worrying her thumbnail between her teeth, as Talia nodded slowly.

“I have to protect my pack, starting with its most vulnerable members.”

“Me,” Claudia said, feeling like her heart was dropping into her stomach.

“I know that you’re in no way weak, Claudia. You’re the strongest woman I know,” Talia explained, softly, reaching out to take Claudia’s hand. “But that means nothing when you’re up against the Argent’s artillery. You have to take care of yourself.”

“No, I understand,” Claudia agreed, her voice shaking as it left her throat. “You’re saying I shouldn’t come around any more?”

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I know!” Claudia stood up, hearing the panic in her own voice, the way it make her croak, the way it made her hoarse. “I understand. You’re protecting your own.”

“You _are_ my own,” Talia protested, looking heartbroken. “You’re pack.”

“I know,” Claudia repeated, for lack of something else to say. “I get it. I’m not weak, but I’m your weakness. I’m the link in the chain that’s most easily broken.”

“Pods,” Talia said, reaching out, her face drawn with worry.

“It’s fine, Talia. I’m upset, yeah, but I understand. And you’re right. You’re always right, and you always know what’s best for me.”

“Please.”

“I actually, I have to go,” Claudia explained quickly, shrugging as she bit her lips, “I have a job tomorrow at the high school and I need to prepare. Substitute English teacher. Imagine that! Me, getting actual work experience. It’s great.”

“That _is_ great,” Talia enthused, her voice soft as Claudia quickly stepped across the foyer to the front door. “You’ll be great.”

“I know,” Claudia said finally, putting her hand on the door. “So, give the kids my love, I guess. I’ll see you around.”

“You will,” Talia promised, and Claudia searched for something to say, settling on just waving weakly as she slipped out the door. She figured that everything had already been said.

Weeks went by without any word from any of the Hales. Claudia had always been a worrier in her own special way. When she’d been younger, she expelled her stress and worry through destruction and rebellion. Now she was older, and she could handle herself better — or so she had thought.

Somehow, she ended up down at the station.

“What in god’s name—” was how John began his greeting, doing a double take when he saw her sitting on the bench by his desk, cuffed to the underside of it. “Why?” he asked, flatly.

“It’s really just a misunderstanding, I swear—” Claudia began to protest, and John sighed, kneeling before her to undo her cuffs just as he had so many times before.

“What happened?”

“So, before I tell this idiotic tale, I should point out that I am _very_ stressed right now—”

“CJ, c’mon. Out with it.”

“I sort of— parked my Jeep where I shouldn’t have.”

John sighed again, watching her fondly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. He was trying to look stern and failing hard.

“And where was that?”

“In the hard shoulder out by the preserve,” Claudia explained, wringing her hands as John sat up next to her on the bench, his hand resting delicately on her wrist. She didn’t dare move  an inch in case he took it away. “I was already crying when they found me. I wasn’t very… cooperative.”

John’s mouth twisted into a frown, shaking his head minutely.

“When _who_ found you?”

“DeSantos and Foley.”

John suddenly rolled his eyes so hard, Claudia was surprised they didn’t roll straight out of his head. “Foley, of course. Asshat.”

Claudia blubbered out a laugh, covering her mouth with a shaking hand.

“I’m pretty sure he’s always had it out for me.”

“He’s just a bitter old dud. Don’t ever let me get like that, Ceej. Don’t ever let me become one of those fat cops who sleep their afternoons away in the speed traps, okay?”

Claudia laughed, nodding her head in acceptance of the request. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” John enthused, holding out his pinky fingers. “Promise me.”

“Pinky swears? What are we, five?” Claudia grinned, but hooked her little finger through his anyway. A little thrill ran through her at the realisation that he was there for the long haul, that he wanted her there with him. “I promise, Stilinski. No fat cops if I have anything to do with it.”

John beamed at her, putting his arm around her shoulders and hugging her into his side gently. And then he didn’t let go, and Claudia let her head roll onto his shoulder. The station was quiet, bar the few murmurs they could hear from inside Sheriff O’Connor’s office. All she could feel was the heat of John’s arm across her back, his hand on her arm.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you mentioned you were _crying_ on the side of the road,” John said, gently, and Claudia groaned loudly, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Was it anything to do with whatever’s going on with you and Talia?”

Claudia wrinkled her nose.

“You noticed that?” She asked, weakly.

“Of course I noticed,” John frowned, “You two were joined at the hip for years, and I haven’t seen you together in almost a month. Haven’t seen much of Talia, honestly.”

Claudia shrugged, “She’s going through family stuff. She’s pregnant again, and it’s stressful, and I have college and I’m subbing at the high school, and we just don’t have time.”

“That” John sighed, “sounded very rehearsed, Ceej.”

Claudia fell silent again, fixing her gaze on her shoes, her legs crossed at the ankle. Her spiel sounded rehearsed because she was so tired of saying it.

“Well, rehearsed or not, it’s the truth.” Or, part of it.

John nodded his head in acquiescence, slowly beginning to pull away.

“Okay, well. I’m going to have a word with Foley and see what happened. See if we can get you out of here in one piece, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” Claudia murmured, “It’s no big deal. I just kind of slapped him—”

“Yep, definitely having a chat with Foley,” John said, suddenly, turning on his heel towards the Sheriff’s office. Claudia huffed out a laugh again, watching him go and already missing the warmth of him next to her.

It really was time for her to get her act together.

/ / /

**[ 2 0 1 3 // A p r i l ]**

Stiles realised, halfway through setting up Lydia’s coffee machine, that he might still be drunk. There were no signs of a hangover yet, and the morning light was just on the unnatural side of blurry as it came through the kitchen window.

No one was awake yet, and judging by the state Stiles had left Scott in upstairs in the tub, no one _would_ be awake for a long time. Naturally, Stiles picked up his coat and walked out the door in last night’s clothes, abandoning the coffee machine where it sat.

Derek’s loft wasn’t all that far away, and Stiles figured the twenty-minute spring morning walk would do a good job of sobering him up. Belatedly, he decided to check his reflection in the front-facing camera on his phone. Other than unruly hair (which was to be expected from a night spent under Scott’s armpit), he didn’t actually look half bad. But that might just be that last dregs of alcohol left in his system, and his brain trying to keep his spirits up despite the impending hangover.

It was just starting to drizzle when he finally got to Derek’s building. Stiles hummed quietly to himself as he climbed the stairs to Derek’s floor, finding the door unlocked as it always was. He slid it back with practised ease, and came across a truly beautiful sight; a hungover Derek Hale.

“Wow,” Stiles said, and Derek flinched full-bodily, almost dropping his mug. He seemed to have been making his way back to bed, so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn’t heard Stiles coming in… which Stiles found hilarious.

“Don’t,” Derek warned, climbing into his bed with the barest glance in Stiles’ direction.

“This is like, like, seeing a _unicorn_. Is it real? Can I touch it? Will its blood make me immortal?”

“Are you still drunk?” Derek squinted, nostrils flaring.

“Yes.”

After a brief pause, Derek sighed deeply.

“Go use my shower, the stench of alcohol is making me sick. Then we can talk.”

“Can I filch some of your coffee?”

“Filch? Who even uses words— you know what? Just go shower.”

Stiles knew from the occasional gory event where Derek kept his towels and so he helped himself to a few fresh ones before slipping around the partition into the wet room. Even though there was a much nicer bathroom just up the spiral staircase, with a bathtub and a toilet and sinks for actual guests (mainly the girls), the wet room was much handier for hosing down bloody werewolves when the time came. Right now, Stiles didn’t exactly trust himself with a spiral staircase. Yes, he’d made it twenty minutes across town and up six flights of stairs, but he maintained that the staircase was a deathtrap not to be attempted by him under _any_ circumstances let alone drunken ones.

Plus, being in the downstairs wet room meant he could still converse with Derek, who was just around the corner (courtesy of the open-plan loft — the place was like a damn locker room). Derek could probably see the steam billowing out when Stiles turned on the hot water and started to strip out of his unfathomably tight jeans.

He actually couldn’t remember how he got them _on_.

“Are you okay?” Derek called, after a minute of Stiles’ struggling.

“Freaking jeans!” Stiles replied, finally getting one leg out. “I’m borrowing your sweatpants, man. No way am I putting these back on.”

Stiles thought he might have heard Derek laugh, but couldn’t be sure, as he stepped under the spray. There was a rack on the wall where some members of the pack kept various body washes and shampoos that they had brought over and forgotten to take home. Stiles located something of Scott’s, considering his own stuff wasn’t there, and began to wash up quickly, scrubbing his hands through his hair, over his chest, down his torso—

Stiles lifted both his hands up in the air, as if surrendering, angrily.

“ _No_ ,” he whispered pointedly at his dick. “Not now.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Derek called, a hint of concern in his voice, but also a touch of irritation.

“Yeah!” Stiles called, swatting at his cock, which seemed to only made the situation worse, and also kind of hurt. “ _Fuck_. Ow— uh, I think I feel my hangover catching up with me,” he bluffed.

_God_ , he wanted to jerk off so badly. It would be so easy, so quick, he was so pent up from last night, dancing with that guy, the teasing, the grinding. Stiles was surprised he hadn’t woken up with a hard-on just from cuddling Scott. Suddenly, all he could think about was the moment he had slid into Derek’s lap the night before. How solid and sure Derek had felt against him. It would be so easy to just get a hand around his dick. And at eighteen years of age, Stiles was well versed in getting himself off quickly, and doing it well. All it took was a tight, slippery fist and a well placed finger—

But Derek was _right there_.

Derek was less than fifteen feet away, honest to god.

_No._

Stiles sucked in a breath, rinsed his hair out one last time, and gave his cock and apologetic stroke, before flicking the switch on the wall from hot water to cold. He barely managed to hold in his squeak, but it was worth it if he managed to maintain at least a shred of dignity. He _was_ here to apologise, after all.

Eventually, Stiles pulled himself out of the shower, and shrouded himself in towels. One around his waist, a large bath towel over his shoulders and around his torso like a blanket— oh, and one around his hair for full coverage. Stiles admired his own modesty, and shuffled out into the main space of the loft. Derek was still curled up against the headboard of the bed, nursing his coffee, so Stiles padded over to the chest at the end of the bed, and fished out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He slipped both on beneath the towels, before climbing up to sit at the foot of the bed.

Derek watched him expectantly, before rolling his eyes, and holding out the coffee, which Stiles practically snatched from him.

“You know there’s a pot in the kitchenette,” Derek said, but Stiles was too busy inhaling the coffee all in one gulp, regardless of how differently Derek took it compared to him.

“Yeah, but stolen goods are always sweeter. ”

Derek scoffed, and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He already looked ten times better than when Stiles had seen him just minutes ago, and he secretly cursed werewolf metabolism. Scott’s hangovers usually lasted a grand total of sixty seconds, but Derek was older, and didn’t have roughly four years of teenage drinking under his belt. He also wasn’t an Alpha.

Stiles took pity, got up to pour him another cup, and returned to the bed. This time he sat closer than before.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to hang out last night,” he said, softly. “I was… distracted.”

Derek took the mug gratefully, and sipped from it slowly.

“You don’t need to apologise. I wasn’t even going to show up, I figured I would be a mood killer. And I kind of was.”

“No you weren’t,” Stiles frowned.

“Scott probably has a different story,” Derek shrugged, and Stiles took the coffee back for another mouthful. He felt blurry around the edges, just a little dizzy.

“Still, I’m sorry you felt you had to leave. I’m sorry you felt like you had to come to some kid’s birthday in the first place.”

_That_ , funnily enough, was what got a reaction from Derek.

“Okay, first of all? You’re not just _some kid_ , Stiles. You’re not even a kid, not really, so don’t play that card with me. And anyway, I wanted to go. Because we’re friends now, Stiles. I left because I was drunk, and I was a mess, and I didn’t want to bring you down. So if anyone needs to apologise, it’s me. I promise you.”

Stiles fell silent, strangely touched by Derek’s well-meaning rant. Suddenly, it was hard to wrangle his thoughts away from anything that resembled him leaning across the waning space between them and just planting one on Derek. A kiss. Kissing Derek. _God_ , did he want to kiss Derek. Anywhere at all.

“Um,” Stiles licked his lips, gaze flickering down to where he was wringing his hands, and then back up, “Then. let’s both apologise and call it even, okay?”

Derek drained the last of his coffee and set the mug down on the floor by the bed.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Now lie down. I can practically feel your impending hangover and I don’t want you throwing up on my bed. You need to rest.”

Stiles laughed under his breath and flopped down on the bed, wriggling until he was nestled right in the centre, nearly pressed up against Derek’s side. Derek looked down at him expectantly, his eyebrow twitching upward.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, and Stiles could see his smile even through the serious tone of his voice, the neutral set of his face.

“Oh, uh, I can’t sleep unless I’m in the middle,” he said, his voice raspier than he remembered. Derek’s face softened a little more, and then slowly, he lowered his hand, his fingertips brushing tentatively along Stiles’ hairline. Almost instinctually, Stiles leaned into the touch, and Derek seemed to take that as an invitation, raking his fingers back through Stiles’ hair.

Suddenly his face was mere centimetres from Stiles’, lips hovering just over his brow. Stiles could just lean up, kiss Derek’s neck if he wanted (and yes, he wanted), but he didn’t dare move, didn’t want to scare Derek away. Then Derek moved again, his nose against Stiles’ temple for a moment, inhaling before he pulled away altogether.

“What did you use in the shower?” he asked, shaking his head a little, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Oh, that stuff Scott always uses? The clear stuff in the yellow bottle, I don’t know what it’s called,” Stiles shrugged a shoulder, and then suddenly worried, he asked, “Why, do I smell like Scott?”

“No more than usual. The body wash was probably unscented,” Derek replied, his fingers still resting in Stiles’ hair, “You smell good, that’s all.”

“Well, what’s good?” Stiles asked, suddenly aware of the way his heart felt like it was about to punch out of his chest.

For a moment, Derek was silent, just holding Stiles’ gaze, the corner of his mouth curling.

“The coffee you stole. The clothes and towels you borrowed. The bed you’re in,” he said, looking down at his lap, chin tucked into his chest, and if Stiles’ didn’t know him better he’d say he was shy. But Stiles _did_ know Derek by now, knew that this was how he flirted. Suddenly Stiles’ mouth felt awfully dry.

He wanted to say, _it’s like I’m yours._

Instead of saying anything though, he casually reached out to pick at the Nike logo on Derek’s sweatpants, wanting to touch any part of him he could. Derek placed his hand over Stiles’, flattening Stiles’ fingers out against his leg. 

“Thanks for coming here this morning. I probably would have just sat around moping. And probably thinking about that guy you were with.”

Stiles looked away from where his hand was curled around the thick muscle of Derek’s thigh, up into Derek’s surprisingly earnest face. Two years ago he would have never imagined himself to be here. That they could be like this.

“Thinking _what_ about him?”

Derek bobbed his head a little, as if weighing out his answers. “Whether or not you’d go home with him. Whether in the morning you’d even remember I was there.”

Stiles licked his lips. “You’d have thought about that?”

Derek scoffed, “Regardless of what you think, I do actually care.”

Stiles pushed himself up into a sitting position, startling Derek and jostling both his hand from Derek’s leg and Derek’s hand from his hair. He powered through the slight sensation of unbalance, the nausea from moving so quickly.

“Derek, trust me, I know. I really— You know I do too, right? I _care_ ,” he said, his voice finding a hard edge and clinging to it. He refused to break down now. They were _so close_.

“Last year, last Valentine’s day when we had that pack movie night, you remember that?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, almost wincing at the memory.

“Afterwards, you followed me to my car, and we fought. I told you I was confused. You were with Malia, but you kept coming back to me, and it was almost like you wanted to rub it in my face. That I lost what we’d had before that, what we were building up to, and now you had her instead.”

The back of Stiles’ neck prickled with shame, and he dropped his gaze, unable to take the honesty of Derek’s words. He hated what he said back then, and the thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

“You said you were confused too,” Derek continued with a sigh, “Because you loved her, but you said ‘it could have been you, don’t you think?’.”

Stiles was sure that somewhere in the loft he heard a pin dropping. Or maybe that his heart falling right out of his chest. He’d been such an idiot. He was _still_ being an idiot.

Derek touched him again, this time just a brush of his knuckles against Stiles’ arm.

“It killed me. Because I _did_ think it could have— I could have— I loved you.”

Stiles could feel every bone in his body locking up, freezing into place, ribs trapping his pounding heart. All at once it was utter relief and absolute terror taking over him, butterflies and elation flipping in his stomach, rushing up.

“Oh god,” he whispered.

“I _do_. I mean, present tense, I love you. It’s ridiculous.”

The rushing feeling, wasn’t actually the elation, it turned out.

“This is the part where I throw up on your bed.”

/ / /

Derek sighed as he wrung out the mop into the bucket, his phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder.

“He just showed up,” he said, “Still drunk, by the way, at 8am. Kind of irresponsible on your part to let him drink so much and then let him off his leash, Scott.”

_“I know,”_ Scott echoed Derek’s sigh, _“He’s okay though?”_

Derek looked over at his bed, where Stiles seemed to have curled himself into a very small ball in the middle. He’d wrapped himself around one of the pillows, clinging to it, and Derek wanted nothing more than to be that pillow.

“He’s fine,” Derek cleared his throat, leaning against the mop. “He’s perfect.”

_“He didn’t do anything stupid while still drunk, did he?”_

(No, that was me. I did the stupid thing. While sober, funnily enough.)

“Other than puking his guts up?”

_“Oh god,”_ Scott groaned.

“That’s what he said,” Derek supplied unhelpfully, reluctantly turning away from the image of Stiles in his bed, “Right before he hurled.”

_“That’s all that happened?”_ Scott was, if nothing else, thorough.

Derek decided to come clean. If he had to tell someone, it would be Scott. “Well, if we’re still talking about people doing stupid things, I told him I love him.”

For a moment, Derek wondered if he’d accidentally disconnected the call, and pulled back to check his phone. 

_“You.”_

“Yep.”

_“Derek.”_

“I know.”

_“And he puked on you?”_

“Well, based on experience, it’s not like I expected the best reaction to telling _anyone_ about my feelings, let alone Stiles.”

_“What did he do?”_

“I’ve said it like four times, he got sick. On the bed. And me, a little bit.”

_“No, Derek, I mean like, what did he_ do _?”_ Scott exasperated.

“He got all flustered and upset, started apologising. He tried to leave, but I made him lie down. I went to get a towel and when I came back he was passed out,” Derek said, “He just kept saying ‘sorry’ and ‘I’m such an idiot’ which pretty much expressed both our feelings at that particular moment.”

_“Hey. I’m sorry, Derek,”_ Scott said, softly, _“I’m sure he’ll come around when he’s sober. When he realises what a bad idea it was to come to you when he was drunk.”_

“He didn’t even seem—” Derek sighed, exasperated, “He seemed fine. I mean, more pliant than usual, but he was all there, you know? He was just… _more_.”

_“Stiles is like that,”_ Scott said, a hint of a smile in his voice, _“We used to pull all nighters when we were fifteen. He’d be so clear, just before he crashed. He used to say it felt like planets aligning in his head, or like a solar eclipse blocking out the sun in his eyes. Everything fell into place, and he knew what he wanted.”_

Derek sat down at the end of his bed, and Stiles stretched out in his sleep, his foot nudging Derek’s back, before he curled up again, re-wrapping himself around the pillow.

_“Did you hear that, Derek?”_ Scott asked, pointedly. _“He knew what he wanted, and he went to you.”_

Derek thought back over the last 24 hours of his life, and then the last 24 months. This may not have been the worst thing to ever happen after all.

/ / /

**[ 1 9 9 3 // A p r i l ]**

Thirty-two minutes. That’s exactly how long Claudia sat outside the station in her Jeep for, before sucking up the nerve to climb out, and make her way inside. She could have sat there longer. It was lunch hour at the high school, and she didn’t have to teach next period. She could have sat there for probably another thirty-two minutes, before giving up and retreating with her tail between her legs.

But then, it’d be thirty-two more minutes of not knowing. Thirty-two and a lifetime.

“There he is,” she said brightly, pastry box and note paper tucked under her arm, car keys in her other hand. John looked up, and the smile on his face nearly took her down right there.

“CJ Podolzky.”

“My name just sounds cooler when you say it like that,” she hummed, batting her eyes at him teasingly. If she made a fool of herself, it was worth it for the way John hid his grin in his coffee cup.

“Shouldn’t you be at work? Poisoning young minds?”

“Lunch break. Thought I’d bring my favourite cop some donuts. That’s what you get, right? Teachers get apples, cops get donuts,” she held the box up, balanced atop her hand, “I hope you like donuts because I don’t like apples.”

“You brought me donuts?” John laughed, sounding pleasantly surprised.

And then came the hurdle. Claudia could clear it, could run towards the finish line, win first prize. Or she could crash and burn. This next leap was the one that mattered.

“Uh, yeah, yes, but in order to _get_ to the donuts there is a survey you have to fill out,” she said, taking an unsteady breath, “And you only get donuts depending on whether I find your answer satisfactory or not.”

“A survey?” John’s brow furrowed, like he was sensing just how nervous she really was. How long she’d been waiting to do this.

“It’s just one question,” she said, sliding a folded A4 page across the desk. It was torn, a little crumpled, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t need to be fancy. There was only one question printed on it, one she’d written herself.

_Based on recent findings, would you like to go on a date with me? Circle YES or NO. (If no, please state why. I’m awesome. Say yes.)_

John’s mouth opened in surprise, as he stared down at the paper in his hands. In her head, Claudia was already retreating, already realising how idiotic this was.

John took a pen, made a circle on the page and wrote something down, and then folded the paper over. Claudia couldn’t see which option he’d gone for. He placed it on the table, his palm resting over the paper so she couldn’t see or take it.

“John,” she said, very softly, suddenly nervous.

“I’m twelve years older than you,” he said, seriously, and her heart sank. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Claudia replied quietly, “But I also know a lot of other stuff about you. I know how you take your coffee, without even having to ask. I know you only drink when you’re upset, when you need to get away. I know you’re kind, and open-hearted, and a good man. An extremely good man, and—”

“CJ.”

“—I know you’d do anything for me. Because you care for me. And I care for you too.”

John smiled, like he knew nothing he said could deter her. “I know too,” he said, after the longest silence Claudia had ever experienced, “I’m just making sure you’re aware of what you’re getting into.”

He slid the piece of paper towards her.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**[ 2 0 1 3 // M a y ]**

Stiles was fully being a snarky little shit when he’d suggested looking to the Hale vault for answers to their latest problem, and Scott had known it. Why else would he have smirked, and sent Stiles and Derek on their way? Because he wanted Stiles to burst into flame in the unusual May heatwave (or maybe from sexual frustration). That’s why.

“I know you have it out for me, McCall!” Stiles shouted, as Derek was dragging him out of the house and into the heat outside by the collar of his t-shirt.

“Love you too, babe,” Scott said, and Stiles nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to form a response before Derek slapped a hand over his mouth and hauled him out the door.

“You don’t have to say it, I know I’m an idiot,” Stiles said, once they were on the road, he was fiddling with the radio stations and the air conditioning from the passenger seat of Derek’s Toyota.

“Actually, you might be on to something,” Derek admitted, “If I remember right, my mom kept journals. Of both supernatural and mundane events, that is. I’m sure she must have come across other shape shifters before.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “So I’m a genius.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Let me have my moment, Derek,” Stiles said, turning his face to the window to hide his grin, still pretending to be mad. Ever since his birthday, being around Derek had been easier than Stiles had ever imagined. It was like everything before had been out of sync, and on that night, they’d finally fallen into a rhythm. He wasn’t terribly annoyed at being ejected from the house _with_ Derek, just a little annoyed that he’d been ejected at all.

Stiles was _useful._ He was _good_ at research. And Scott’s place had air-con.

“Scott could tell you were getting restless,” Derek said, as if he’d read Stiles’ mind.

“Was not,” Stiles lied. Any kind of meetings with the pack that were strictly business-not-leisure made him itchy. He liked to either be in action, or left alone to investigate, do some groundwork.

“We both know you needed an out.”

“He seemed so happy to get rid of us.”

“No, he was just happy to find a way to cool you down, both physically and emotionally. It’s hot out, you were getting snappish, and everyone was stressing,” Derek reasoned, and Stiles kind of hated him for it. Except that he was right. And Stiles could _never_ let him know that.

“Shut up,” he muttered, still refusing to look at Derek, but not missing the soft huff of laughter Derek let out, as he switched radio stations.

“This is the year twenty-thirteen,” Derek grumbled at a station that was playing Carly Rae Jepson, “Get over it. He’s not going to call you.”

Stiles covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly, “Don’t make me laugh when I’m mad.” He peaked out through his fingers, furious in the best kind of way when he saw Derek smiling out at the road ahead of them. Derek moved the stick to shift gears, and reached out to brush his knuckles along the side of Stiles’ leg. In the last couple of weeks, they’d both gotten better at the casual touching thing, even if they were both still skirting around a subject Stiles desperately wanted to address.

(They both acted like Derek hadn’t _said it,_ and Stiles hated that. But he was a coward, and apparently so was Derek.)

“Hey,” Derek said softly, “At least it’ll be cooler down in the vault.”

“There is a higher power that loves Stiles Stilinski!” Stiles exclaimed, without even thinking once, let alone twice.

Oops.

It was only a _little_ awkward between them as Derek pulled his 4x4 into the parking lot at the school. It was the weekend, so it was mostly empty, but Derek parked under a shady tree at the edge of the lot anyway.

“We going in the outside way or the inside way?” Stiles asked, “Unless there’s a third way into the vault I don’t know of.”

“Let’s go inside,” Derek said, “That way we can make sure no one sees.”

“Good thinking,” Stiles nodded, lips pressed together tight as he patted Derek on the shoulder. “Let’s hurry though. I feel like I’m melting.”

The school was quiet as expected, though Stiles could hear telltale noises of the school band practising down the far end of the school. The cacophony faded however, as he and Derek headed towards the entrance to the vault. 

Stiles didn’t exactly love being down there, looking at that same wall he’d stood facing, slamming his fists against, shouting himself hoarse at, thinking Scott was dead on the other side. Stiles hadn’t stepped foot in there since that day, but he figured he was stronger now. And he had Derek there next to him, which was a nice bonus.

The vault door slid open.

“So, what are we looking for?”

“Journals, the heavy duty kind,” Derek said, “Probably leather-bound and dated with the year.”

“Any idea where they could be?”

“It’s luck of the draw, really. You start over that side, I’ll start over here,” Derek said, sending them in opposite directions across the vault. Stiles frowned, a little bugged that he couldn’t stick with Derek, but went anyway, dragging out the first box he set eyes on and sorting through it.

For the first half hour, neither of them found anything extremely remarkable. Stiles found the occasional strange herb, and a few funny trinkets that he memorised and stored away for later. Derek mumbled something about kitchen utensils every so often, sounding both irritated and amused.

Then Stiles hit the jackpot.

“Hey, this looks like something,” he said, opening a box, to find a large string-bound hardback notebook on top. “Nineteen-ninety-one,” he said, reading the gold-stamped numbers on the front.

“Well, read it,” Derek said, pointedly, and Stiles began to unwind the strings from around the book. He flipped through the pages quickly, but was disappointed with what he found.

“It’s a personal journal,” he said, and Derek looked up. “Want me to put it aside for you?”

Derek snorted, “Not sure I want to go nosing through my mom’s diaries.”

“You never know, it might be dishy,” Stiles said, wiggling his eyebrows in Derek’s direction. Derek laughed louder this time, smiling as he searched through his own boxes over his side of the vault.

“ _You_ read it, then.”

“I might,” Stiles said, flicking through the pages quickly, but stopping when something fluttered out from between the pages. “Aw, shit.”

“What?”

“Something just fell out and I don’t know which page it was from.”

“Well, what was it?” Derek asked, looking up again.

“Just an old polaroid,” Stiles said, picking up the photo and perfunctorily checking it for a date. It just said ‘April’ on the back, so Stiles began to flip through the journal to find the pages dated April. Derek pushed himself up off the floor, and Stiles held out the polaroid without even looking up. Once he was close enough, Derek reached out and took it, standing near Stiles’ shoulder as he looked through the journal. 

“Do you have many family photos?” Stiles asked. “It might be worth looking through these journals to find more.”

“Yeah. Uh,” Derek said, sounding a little breathless, and Stiles tipped his head back to look at him.

“What? What is it?”

“Did you look at this photo?” Derek asked.

“No,” Stiles said, “Didn’t want to snoop without permission.”

“You should probably look at it.”

Derek held out the photo for Stiles to take, and strangely anxious look on his face. Stiles reached out hesitantly, fingers poised to take the polaroid, but stalling at the last inch.

“What is it?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion. Derek’s expression softened.

“Just look,” he said gently, closing the remaining space between Stiles’ fingertips, and the paper of the polaroid. Stiles gave Derek one last bewildered glance before flipping the photo over to look at it.

And suddenly he understood why Derek was so shocked.

“That’s— that’s not possible.”

“You’re looking at it, though,” Derek said, a strange catch in his voice.

“I know I’m looking at it. I’ve seen impossible things before, Derek.”

“Stiles—”

“That’s my _mom_ ,” Stiles blurted, hearing panic in his voice before he could figure out why he was even feeling it, “That’s my mom, and that’s— that’s gotta be _your_ mom. I mean, it’s us. It’s girl us. So they’re…”

“They’re our mothers.” Derek said, oddly calm.

“In the same photo. In 1991,” Stiles said, and then snapped towards Derek. “What year were you born?”

“Eight-five,” Derek said, “I would have been five, five-and-a-half at the time, Stiles. I wouldn’t have remembered—”

“ _There’s a photo of my mom in your mom’s journal,_ ” Stiles said, loudly.

“Are you panicking?”

“A little!” Stiles gasped, thrusting the photo at Derek’s chest as he knelt down next to where Stiles was sitting.

“Don’t.”

“Not that easy to just _not panic_ ,” Stiles spluttered, suddenly finding it harder to breathe. It wasn’t hot down in the vault like it was out on street level, but it wasn’t cool like Derek had said it’d be either. It was kind of humid, almost foggy, and that certainly wasn't conducive to regular breathing when his lungs felt like they were shrinking.

“Stiles, give me your hands— here, come here.”

“This explains so much!” Stiles yelped, wresting his hands out of Derek’s grip and flailing a little, starting over when Derek tried to get ahold of his wrists again and put Stiles’ palms against his chest.

“What?” Derek’s face pinched in confusion, still fighting to get Stiles to calm and slow down, and Stiles almost laughed at the absurdity of his life right now.

“I mean, no, it explains nothing,” he said, and yeah, he _was_ actually laughing, “Except, my mom knew about werewolves.”

“Stiles.”

“And _that_ explains all the stories. All the bedtimes stories, the legends and myths she used to tell me. She always said stuff like, _keep and open mind, honey, you never know_ and I always thought she was just kidding around. But I— werewolves. Scott didn’t believe me. I believed. Because my mom knew, and she was t _eaching me, oh god_.”

“You got all of that out of one photo?” Derek said, looking adorably confused, and Stiles kind of hated his brain for noticing that, even in his panicked state. And then, Stiles must have look _really_ rattled, because Derek just dragged him into a tight hug and held him there. He let the photo fall back into the box, clutching at the bottom of Derek’s t-shirt, pressing his forehead against Derek’s sternum, just breathing. Just focusing on Derek’s hand circling on his back, breathing with the swishing pattern.

“I can’t believe—” he began, voice pitched high with panic, and Derek hushed him, softly.

“Me neither,” he murmured, and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find his calm.

“I never knew,” he whispered, letting one of his hands fall to Derek’s thigh and dig in there, grounding himself. Werewolves weren’t the only ones in need of anchors, he thought.

“Me neither,” Derek sighed.

/ / /

After a while of just breathing in sync with him, Stiles peeled himself away from Derek and sat upright, looking at the journal the picture had fallen from.

“Do you think they were friends?” he asked, his voice sounding just a little rough, wrecked.

“Looks like it,” Derek said, reaching out for the journal. He began to leaf through it while Stiles picked up the photo again to stare at it. His mother, not yet twenty-one judging by the date, with her arm slung around Talia Hale. They seemed to be outdoor, and even though it was night, Talia was wearing sunglasses.

“You look just like her,” Derek said absently, like the sentiment wasn’t a knife through Stiles’ heart every time he heard it.

“Right back at ya, big guy,” he said, didn’t need to look up to see Derek’s expression twist.

“Looks like this was the year my mom became the Alpha of our family,” Derek said, his voice sounding tired and a little stilted. “Hey, did your mom have any nicknames?”

“Dad called her CJ,” Stiles said, chewing the inside of his lip, “Sometimes just ‘Ceej’, like he was too lazy and even her nickname needed a nickname.”

“Does ‘Pods’ ring any bells?” Derek asked, and Stiles frowned, shaking his head.

“No, not really, I— wait, yes,” he said, suddenly. “Her maiden name was Podolzky.”

“That has to be it,” Derek agreed, engrossed in the journal, their earlier mission forgotten.

“How come you don’t remember her?” Stiles asked, as the thought occurred to him, “How come we didn’t know each other?”

“It was a long time ago, Stiles. I don’t know,” Derek said, crawling over to the box to look at some of the other journals. “What’s your date of birth?”

“Like you don’t know,” Stiles snorted, and then rolled his eyes at Derek’s pointed look. “April eighth, 1995.”

He watched as Derek fished out another journal and sat back down on the stone floor, flipping through the pages of the one marked 1995. There were no photos in this one, and Derek scanned quickly over his mother’s handwriting with his finger.

“ _April 1st. Zbigniew is already causing trouble and he hasn’t even been born yet_ —” Derek began to read, and— Stiles’ brain went offline for a few seconds. His throat felt tight again all of a sudden. _“—never seen her look so frightened, and—”_

“Wait, go back to the beginning. What did you say?” Stiles asked, eyes trained on Derek as he read aloud. Derek’s gaze flicked up to Stiles and then back down to the journal.

“I said _‘April 1st, Zbigniew is already—‘_ ”

“Say it again.”

“What,” Derek frowned, looking up again, this time lingering on what Stiles was sure was his own slightly tortured expression.

“My name. Say it again. Just like you did.”

Derek’s mouth opened in surprise, then closed, and then opened again like a fish out of water.

“You… that’s your name? Your real one?” He asked.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles pleaded, leaning forward, placing his hands on Derek’s knees where he knelt. “Please.”

Derek, looking a little startled, acquiesced. “Zbigniew.”

Stiles’ hands clenched into fists against Derek’s legs, and his head dropped down as he breathed through the stinging behind his eyes. Derek slowly put the journal aside, and Stiles felt his palm against the back of his head, cradling it gently.

“Are you panicking again?”

“No,” Stiles said, weakly, “I’m just…”

“Just?”

“Yeah, um…”

Stiles lifted his head, and Derek’s palm fell to his cheek. It was like another one of the bricks in Stiles’ emotional dam had slipped out of place, and now a steady stream of feeling was spilling in. He didn’t even need to think about it, just leaned in and pressed his mouth against Derek’s. It was the most chaste of all the chaste kisses ever kissed, Stiles thought. Just slightly chapped lips against slightly chapped lips, nothing more. But it was also everything.

It was just a peck, really, but Derek looked at him like Stiles had just given him the world. Really, it was the other way around.

No more stalemate.

“Hey, do you know how long it’s been since someone pronounced my name right on the first go?”

“Probably not as long as it’s been since they did it three times in a row,” Derek said, clearing his throat.

_I love you_ , Stiles thought fiercely, smiling as he bit his tongue until he found something less ridiculous to blurt.

“Well, this has been _a day_ ,” he said, which wasn’t really a sentence at all, but Derek seemed to understand, nodding in agreement.

Stiles sat back, and dug into his pocket for his phone as Derek went back to looking at the passage of the journal he’d been reading from before. There was a text from Scott waiting for Stiles.

“Oh, in all the panic and excitement, Scott text to say Deaton had some answers for them when they finally got a hold of him, and we don’t really need to be here anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Apparently werecats are a thing.”

“Great,” Derek said, deadpan, “Just another shifter to add to our own personal _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.”

Stiles just barely stopped himself from kissing him again.

/ / /

**[ 1 9 9 3 // M a y ]**

Dinner and a movie. It was traditional and predictable as hell, but Claudia’s face had just lit up when John told her what they were doing together.

“Even thought technically, I asked _you_ out. I should be doing the planning,” She protested.

“You can plan the next one,” John said idly, opening the door of his car for her.

“Already banking on a second date? My my, Sheriff Surmise.”

“ _Deputy_ ,” he reminded her, smiling at her bark of laughter as she sat into the passenger seat, and he closed the door after her. Making his way over to the driver’s seat, he couldn’t believe this was happening. And Claudia looked beautiful, so young and radiant, practically glowing in a red dress that complimented her pale skin. It almost didn’t feel real. It almost felt like it wasn’t really her — because, he could never be that lucky, right? For a minute, he almost felt foolish mentioning a second date. Maybe after tonight she’d realise just how much older he really was, just how different they were, just how much more she deserved.

“This is weird, right? No handcuffs,” Claudia said, as John went to start the engine. This time is was his turn to laugh, loud and straight from his chest. “Well, I mean,” when he looked over she was blushing, almost as deep and rich as the colour of her dress, “that came out sounding totally wrong. I meant— oh god, ignore me. Just drive.”

Claudia slouched in her seat, covering her face with her hands in embarrassment, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter, and suddenly John couldn’t stop grinning. Regardless of whatever happened tonight, he knew he was screwed.

_He was pretty sure he already loved her, anyway._

The movie wasn’t great, but nothing really could have compared to Claudia’s running commentary anyway, her soft whispers in his ear, pointing out flaws, goofs, plainly stupid dialogue. 

When she caught his hand in hers as they left the theatre, he couldn’t even remember the _name_ of the movie anymore. He kind of hated himself for being _that guy_ , but he wasn’t about to let a great night end just there.

Again, he held the door for her when she got into the car, well mannered like his mama had taught him to be. He sat in the driver’s seat, put the keys in the ignition, and stalled.

“Everything okay?” Claudia cocked her head a little, brow drawn into a little furrow when she looked at him.

John cleared his throat, huffing out a laugh.

“I don’t want to take you home just yet,” he said honestly, “I don’t want to say goodnight. Not yet.”f

Claudia looked at her watch, a delicate silver thing she’d gotten for her twenty-first birthday. John had been there was Talia handed it to her, and the memory made his chest constrict. He hadn't heard from Talia or any of the Hales in a while. They were being very quiet.

“It’s still early,” Claudia said tentatively, a blatant lie. It was nearly midnight, a perfectly acceptable time to end any date. John felt a flicker of hope inside of him; maybe she wanted to stick around too. Maybe he’d been fretting earlier for no reason at all. Maybe they just _clicked_ , and she could feel it too.

“Don’t take this the wrong way?”

“No promises.”

“We could go to my place. Talk for a little while, maybe?” John suggested, careful with his words. Claudia’s eyebrows shot up, and he immediately pulled back, staring out the windshield. “I mean, just— I could take you home, too. I just…”

“No, I— John, look at me.”

John sighed and turned his head, relief settling in his chest at Claudia’s warm, open expression.

“I want to,” she said.

“You’re allowed to want to,” he heard himself saying. “You don’t _have_ to.”

“I _want_ to,” Claudia said again, more firmly this time, and John felt her hand settle over his on the console, curling her fingers around his again. John had forgotten how good this could feel, the comfort of another person, the care and ease between them. Then again, he’d never really felt for anyone the way he felt about Claudia, so ‘forgotten’ may have been the wrong word.

John was surprised by how good this could feel. How good it _felt_.

“Anyway, you’re right. It’s early, and I don’t want to say goodnight. Between you and me, there’s a whole lot of talking we can be doing,” Claudia said, her lips curling up into a sly little smile. “Or not doing.”

John almost choked, and Claudia’s smirk turned into a wicked, slightly wild grin.

“You’re such trouble,” John laughed softly, starting the ignition of the car. Claudia still held his hand, even as he shifted into reverse gear and began to pull out of the parking lot. 

“You know it better than anyone.”

/ / /

John’s apartment was still the same as Claudia remembered it, even though she hadn’t been there in over two years. It was small and neat, almost impersonal, lacking a delicate touch. But it was clean, and though it was bordering on sparse, she did see the slightest touches of _John_ here and there and all over. The shoes left by the door, his coat on the hook, a picture or two on a table.

Despite how small the apartment was, it made her feel like she had room to breathe. Like it was a fresh space after feeling cluttered for so long.

“Sometimes work gets tough,” John said, and he must have noticed the way she was looking around. They were sat together on his couch, Claudia had her feet tucked up underneath her, her heels discarded with his own shoes at the door, “It’s nice to come home and get some breathing space. To disconnect.”

“I got that impression,” she agreed, “I’ll admit I’m a messy person though. My place is in chaos more often than not. Kind of like my life.”

John frowned a little, and Claudia instantly wished she hadn’t said that, that she hadn’t tried to play it off with such a chirpy, careless tone.

“Speaking of your life,” he started, tentatively, “Have you heard from Talia lately? Or _any_ of the Hales? They’ve been very quiet. People are starting to notice.”

Claudia shook her head, biting her lip. “Not in months. We fell out of touch, really.”

“I don’t want to feel like I’m prying in your life, or anything like that, but you have to understand how weird that’s been. Seeing you without her, I mean. You two were like— you were two peas in a pod, CJ.”

“These things happen,” Claudia said weakly, and tried a smile that only made it halfway up her face.

“You’re been different,” John said, “You’ve been quieter too.”

“Well, obviously,” she shrugged a shoulder at him, already feeling the bitterness forming in her voice, “I mean, Talia was my best friend, and now she has basically disappeared into thin air. And yeah, I’ve got college friends but… it’s still difficult to get close with them. Debbie’s moving to New York when we graduate and she’s apartment hunting. Sarah’s getting married soon. The other day she actually started asking me about baby names, and I froze up, and she just kept asking ‘Rose? I like Rose. Or Lily. Or Heather!’ like it mattered to me what goddamn plant she’ll name her kid after—”

“Claudia,” there was a hint of worry tainting John’s voice, and the use of her full name startled her. “Are you doing okay?”

Claudia swallowed thickly around all the words threatening to burst up out of her, waiting until she could find the right ones, lay them out on the table.

“Right now? This is the most okay I’ve been in a while,” she said, softly, “But I think that’s mostly because of you.”

“Me?” John asked, a timid smile coming across his lips.

“You make me feel more— I don’t know. Relaxed? Safe? It’s stupid, I don’t know.”

“It’s not stupid,” John said, firmly, “You were totally thrown by losing someone for no apparent reason. You’re like an unmoored ship, and you’re drifting.”

“See,” Claudia laughed, suddenly embarrassed, but refusing to let her voice waver anymore, “That’s where you come in. You were there for me even before Talia. You were always that safe harbour, and I always knew you’d be there, even when I was, y’know, _out at sea_.”

“It isn’t that I’m not enjoying the nautical metaphors,” John said squeezing the hand that Claudia hadn’t even been aware he was holding, “But I’ve got to say something.”

“I got distracted by ships.”

“I’m still here,” John said, smiling, “I always have been. I always _will_ be, regardless of where you drift off too.”

“You’re talking ocean again.”

“ _Ceej_.”

“Sorry, continue.”

“I’m just,” John took a breath, laughed softly and shifted closer to her, “I’m just saying, you’ll always have me. You may not have Talia anymore, you might be losing your college friends now that your studies are coming to an end. But the fact is, you had me before all that. And you still have me now.”

Claudia felt her stomach swooping, and she squeezed his hand tighter.

“John.”

“I don’t want you to ever think that you’re alone.”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

John’s eyebrows rose in surprise, really quick, before dropping again into a neutral expression.

“Yeah, ok,” he said.

Claudia supposed it could have been a tender, sweet thing, that first kiss. It certainly started that way, and they definitely tried to keep it so. But she couldn’t stop herself from climbing across the ever shrinking gap between them, wrapping her arms around his neck, straddling his lap. It was just an accumulation of years and years of her _wanting_ him, and needing this.

It’s not like they hadn’t known where this was going. _Don’t take this the wrong way_ , John had said, with the tiniest hint of hope in his voice, and she’d known then that she wasn’t going home that night. The fact that he cared was the cherry on top. She didn’t need him to say it to know he loved her too. Maybe as much as she loved him.

She tried to slow down, but his hands were so large on her hips, his chest so broad under her fingers, that it felt impossible. So the kiss had gone from sweet and deep to raging and borderline clumsy, and she’d nearly slid off his lap and onto the floor until he got his arm around her waist and pulled her back up and— oh.

It was easier to settle into his lap with her skirt hiking up her thighs like that, easier to feel him, for him to pick her right up — _god_ — and she’d never been in his bedroom before but there was a first time for everything.

She felt so loved. She felt so _worshipped_ , and it was nothing like any feeling she’d ever had before.

“Hey,” John pulled back, sweeping his thumb sweetly over her lip, and she was spread out on his bed and didn’t even care, “is this okay?”

“ _Yes_. More than. The most okay. Definitely—” yeah, the babbling was embarrassing, “nixing the babbling. It’s not sexy.”

“It’s _you_ ,” he said, eyes softening. He propped himself up over her, and she had to look away, tugging at his shirt tails. “That’s all I want.”

It was worth the eight years of waiting and wanting when he sank down between her thighs, made her feel worshipped all over again. Her skirt bunched up around her waist, he slid her underwear down her legs slowly, with a noise of appreciation as she gingerly spread her thighs. He was nothing like any college boy, going down on her until she was pushing him away, dragging him closer, kissing him hard, wrestling with his belt—

“What the hell is this, a chastity belt? What the fuck,” she grumbled, and he laughed, leaning back to open the buckle. She was watching him, mostly naked, flushed from coming under his mouth, and watching him undo his belt was probably the hottest thing she’d ever seen. Her legs were still shaking.

“Well _that’s_. That’s not devastating or anything,” She mumbled, scooting up to the head of the bed, watching John wriggle out of his jeans. He laughed that same quiet laugh again, and she tilted her head, “You’re very quiet.”

“I’m just taking everything in,” John said softly, lifting is head a little. He was blushing, and she wasn’t sure if it was from having his mouth on her for the last ten minutes, or from her calling out his obvious nervousness. Time for distractions.

“Condoms?” she asked.

John was biting down a grin, his shoulders relaxing just a touch. He reached back, pulling his jeans from where they tangled around his feet. “Top drawer, just there.”

When Claudia turned back, box in her hand, the sight before her made her stall. John, pulling his shirt over his head, hair ruffled, smiling almost shyly. She lifted her hand to run a fingertip across the waistband of his boxer briefs, watching the way his stomach twitched underneath her touch.

He softly touched his index finger to her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“If I haven’t told you already tonight, you look beautiful.”

It might be the most perfect moment of her life yet.

**[ 2 0 1 3 // M a y ]**

“So, how come you never told us?” Stiles was aiming for a casual tone, but mentally winced at the way it sounded more like an accusation than anything. His Dad lifted his head and raised an eyebrow, before his gaze flickered out the kitchen window to where Derek was on the phone to Scott.

“Never told you _what_?” he asked, “And I’m assuming ‘we’ is you and Derek?”

“Yeah, dad. Me and Derek. And I’m betting you _know_ what. Because it involves me _and Derek_.”

When John continued to look perplexed, Stiles exhaled a laugh of disbelief.

“Or did you not know? That mom and Talia knew each other? Pretty well from the looks of it.”

John’s face fell. “Stiles—”

“But of course, you _had_ to know. Considering Talia was there when I was _born_.”

In the silence between them that followed, Stiles could hear the coffee machine clunking in the background, Derek murmuring over the phone outside. His heart rushing in his ears.

“I can understand why you’re mad,” John said, gently.

“I’m not mad, I’m just— annoyed. It doesn’t make sense.”

“How did you find this out?”

Stiles shrugged, “Derek and I were in the Hale vault, looking for Talia’s journals in case they had any info on what’s going on. I found some polaroids from before and after I was born. Derek found some diary entries.”

John went very still and quiet, and then sat down heavily at the kitchen table. Stiles leaned back against the wall for support.

“Did you know Derek can say my name? My real one, I mean. On the first go and everything.” Stiles said, idly scratching his chin, craning his neck to see Derek out the window, pacing, in deep conversation and worrying his lip under his front teeth. Stiles found himself blushing, cheeks getting hot as he remembered leaning over a dusty old box to press a quick, innocent kiss to Derek’s mouth not even an hour ago. He found his dad watching him strangely, when he came back to earth.

“He… speaks Polish?” John asked, his voice tight.

“Very well, as far as I can tell.”

Neither of them spoke again for many minutes, until Derek returned, sliding his phone into his back pocket. He nodded to John, moving to stand next to Stiles and mimicking his stance against the wall.

“Scott’s in the preserve with Malia and Kira, says he has a plan.”

“So Fred, Velma and Daphne are off looking for clues, what do Scooby and Shaggy do?”

Derek looked as if he was struggling not to crack a grin.

“We hang tight for now. Wait for more info.”

“And Scrappy Doo?”

“I’m assuming you mean Liam?”

“Naturally.”

“He’s staying with Mason this weekend. Has no idea what’s going on, and Scott wants it to stay that way.”

“Cool.”

Derek then also seemed to notice the strange way John was looking at them, and cleared his throat, standing up straighter.

“So, what’s going on in here?” he asked, a little awkwardly.

“Just asking the old man about that missed connection between our moms,” Stiles went for that casual tone again, but somehow it came out even more bitter than before.

“Oh.” Derek said.

John sighed heavily, pinching his brow.

“You’d both better sit down.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**[ 2 0 1 3 // M a y ]**

“You’d both better sit down,” Sheriff Stilinski said, in that authoritative tone that usually made Derek want to run a mile in the opposite direction. He might have bolted, too, if it wasn’t for Stiles’ hand on his elbow, gently tugging him towards the table. They both sat across from the Sheriff, who was slowly rubbing his hand across his forehead, as if trying to conjure up an explanation in there.

“Dad.”

“It’s a _long_ story, Stiles.”

“Take your time, sir,” Derek said, softly, nudging Stiles’ thigh with his knee under the table.

John sighed and sat back in his chair, smiled sadly.

“Your mother, Derek, was a mentor for troubled youths back in the eighties. Back then, Claudia had a bit of a talent for getting herself into trouble.”

Derek cast Stiles a sideways glance, and Stiles rolled his eyes in response. John had barely gotten two sentences out, and Derek already had a feeling that Stiles greatly took after his mother, not only in looks.

“I always seemed to be the one pulling Claudia out of bad situations, taking care of her when she got into something bad. Eventually though, it got to the point where I couldn’t help her out anymore, I got into trouble at the station for letting her off too often. She had the choice of going to juvie for a couple of months, or joining a kind of ‘Big Sister’ programme. She chose the programme… with a little persuading.”

“Wait,” Stiles said, eyes narrowing, “so, how much older than mom were you again?”

“About twelve years, give or take,” John said, honestly. “She was fifteen when she met Talia. If I remember correctly, Talia was pregnant with Derek at the time. I’m almost sure she was there on Christmas Day.”

Derek looked at Stiles again, almost like a reflex, realising that despite being born nine years apart, Claudia had been with Talia when Derek was born, and in turn Talia had been there with Claudia for the birth of Stiles. Judging by the look on Stiles’ face, he was thinking the exact same thing.

“Even after Claudia left the programme, she and Talia were very close. She spent a lot of time at the house in Forest Hill. But something strange happened about two years before you were born, Stiles. The Hales became very quiet and withdrawn, as if to not draw attention to themselves… it makes a lot more sense to me in retrospect. Claudia didn’t see Talia very much. Or even at all. Sometimes she acted as if she didn’t even know her.”

Derek felt a knot in the pit of his stomach, and swallowed thickly.

“I asked her, even after we were married, what had happened between her and Talia, but Claudia would never give me a straight answer. Always mumbling something about ‘drifting apart’ and ‘needing space’. Then, when Claudia fell pregnant with you, Stiles, Talia appeared again.”

In his periphery, Derek saw Stiles glance at him and then back at his father. Underneath the table, he felt fingertips against his knee, searching for a hand to hold. Derek caught Stiles’ fingers in palm, closing his hand around them. He could feel Stiles’ heartbeat through his skin.

“It was exactly a week before you were born. I remember, because Claudia thought she was in labour, but they were just Braxton Hicks contractions, false labour. There was this nurse telling us we must have a troublemaker on our hands, because it was April Fools’ Day. All I could think was, _god, not another one_.”

Suddenly, Stiles had a death grip on Derek’s hand. Derek breathed slowly through his nose, scented salt on the air, like unshed tears. Stiles’ breathing sounded overly controlled, and Derek swept his thumb in a slow arc over his knuckles, hoping he’d latch onto the rhythm and relax a little.

“Talia arrived that afternoon when we got home. You were there, Derek. Do you remember?”

Derek lifted his gaze to find John watching him, and he shook his head slowly. He didn’t remember much from before the fire, honestly. Brief and horrible flashes of his teenage years, yes, but nothing that far back. He would have been barely nine years old when Stiles was born, turning ten the December afterwards.

“Well, she came to the house, and brought you. She said something to Claudia, and suddenly it was like nothing had changed. Best friends reunited. Derek, you were obsessed with Claudia that afternoon. You sat with her all day on the couch, listening. To her stories. To her bump.”

They weren’t his memories, Derek knew, but still they felt incredibly intimate. He didn’t know how he felt about having a connection with Stiles that he couldn’t even remember. He felt like it was important, like he _should_ remember.

“Talia came with us to the hospital when Claudia eventually did go into labour a week later. She stayed in the waiting room long enough to see you once, Stiles. She and Claudia said their goodbyes, and then they never spoke again. Six years later, there was the fire, and six months after that Claudia was diagnosed with her dementia. The rest…”

John trailed off quietly, but with a note of finality. He was done talking. He looked like he needed a stiff drink. Stiles was unnaturally still next to Derek, holding his hand tightly, staring at a fixed space on the kitchen table.

No one said anything for a very long time.

Then Stiles’ phone started to ring, and he practically wrenched his hand out of Derek’s to grab it. Derek pretended he didn’t see the look of surprise on John’s face when he realised they’d been holding hands, instead watched as Stiles toppled his chair in his haste to stand and answer the phone.

“Yo, Scotty,” he said, clearing his throat of any remaining emotion, and then he was gone down the hallway, and up the stairs to his room.

After a moment, John spoke, obvious sincerity in his voice.

“I really wish I knew what to tell you both about your mothers, but the last couple of years have really opened my eyes. There’s a lot I never knew, and a lot I’ll never know.”

Derek sighed, “I wasn’t sure if I could go through my mom’s journals, but now I think I _need_ to.”

“Right now, I think you need to go upstairs to Stiles and make sure he’s okay,” John said, gently but firmly, phrasing it as a suggestion but making it clear it wasn’t a request.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll—” Derek stood up a little awkwardly, pushing his chair in and picking up Stiles toppled one. “I’ll do that.” He nodded gratefully to John and then turned to leave.

“I’m glad you’re taking care of him, Derek,” John said, making Derek pause in the doorway, his cheeks filling with heat. “Son.”

Derek nodded, barely turning his head as he cleared his throat loudly. His eyes felt wet, but he refused to cry.

“Keeping him safe,” he answered, waiting until he heard John chuckle softly before he decided it was okay to leave.

Upstairs, Stiles was still on the phone, pacing his room.

“Yeah no, that’s fine,” he was saying, his eyes meeting Derek’s for just a moment before he continued to pace. Derek sat at the edge of his bed, “I’m kinda beat. Yeah, it’s— I know. Yeah, Derek’s still here. I’ll tell him. Are you sure? Yeah—alright. You too.”

Stiles slid his phone back into his pocket, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.

“Scott says hi,” he said, and Derek snorted, “Um, he said they found nothing out in the preserve so the trail has gone cold for tonight at least. Lydia’s doing some reading. I’d go over and help but—”

“No,” Derek said, “not tonight.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, quietly. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, facing Derek but barely looking at him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so weird, today. Emotional, I mean. Panicking and crying left right and centre. That’s not me. I mean, it _is_ me, but I’m sorry you had to deal with it.”

Derek sighed, looking down at his fingernails, picking at the cuticle.

“You’re allowed to feel that way today, Stiles. A lot happened.”

“Then, why aren’t you freaking out like I am?”

_I’m used to shit turning my world upside down by now_ , was Derek’s immediate mental response. Instead he chose to shrug a shoulder and say, “I guess I’m still in shock. It’ll hit me later.”

Stiles nodded like that was a valid response on Derek’s part, and turned away towards the window. It was then that Derek noticed that the light outside was fading; it was getting late. He made to stand up.

“I should go.”

Stiles twitched the blinds of his window with his index finger, glancing at Derek back over his shoulder.

“You could stay here tonight, you know.”

Of all things that had happened that day, _this_ was what surprised Derek the most. An invitation.

“Your dad—”

“Actually likes you. And anyway, he’s going out for the night after dinner, so hang around maybe?” Stiles turned around to face him again, and the small but confident, flirtatious smile on his mouth was devastating. “Keep me company, or whatever.”

Derek nodded, glancing from the bed, to Stiles, to the door. He didn’t really relish the idea of having dinner with the Sheriff, despite them being on good terms. Not right now, when his relationship with Stiles seemed so fragile to him. But the idea of staying the night, possibly staying with Stiles again — it was too good an opportunity for him to let it slide.

“Yeah, ok. I was gonna go to the vault again and grab some of those journals, but I could come back here with them?”

“You mean _after_ my dad leaves for work,” Stiles said, mouth stretching into a wide smile, “Yeah, as long as you come back.”

“I always do,” Derek said as he got to the bedroom door, and even though his tone was light, his words felt heavy with meaning.

/ / /

Cuddling was easy, something they’d done before. All it was, clinically, was proximity and intent — both things Stiles excelled in. He was definitely pro-cuddling. And he would consider himself a pro cuddler. Derek, it seemed, was also a secret softy, and there was nothing clinical about the way he dragged Stiles into bed.

“This feels ridiculously good,” comes out slightly muffled, Stiles being tucked under Derek’s arm, almost like Derek was trying to pull Stiles underneath him, like he was trying to climb over him and— okay, that was a bad train of thought when in bed with a werewolf. _Solely_ for cuddling purposes, he reminded himself. “Why haven’t we always been doing this?”

“You know those cliché movies where the white heterosexual protagonists hate each other but then realise they don’t hate each other, and then they pine and go through a series of embarrassing misunderstandings until one of them says something profound and then they fall into bed?”

“Sounds about 90% right,” Stiles agreed, “Oh my god. I’m Sandra Bullock.”

Derek began to tremor with silent laugher, shaking the entire mattress, and Stiles grinned into the pillow as he felt the soft kiss pressed to his temple. He was still beaming when he turned his head, jostling the arm Derek had over the tops of his shoulders.

“Hey. I kissed  _you_ on the lips. I feel cheated.”

Derek huffed out another laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners when he leaned in again, brushing his mouth against Stiles’. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, so easy, just a touch of shyness, and Stiles tried to follow him as he pulled away.

“Yeah,” he said, heavily, “So, I get that we’re testing the waters or whatever, but let’s do that again, but for longer.”

Stiles leaned in again, this time catching Derek’s lower lip between his, nipping it with his teeth, wetting it with his tongue. Stiles felt Derek’s groan deep in his belly, his hand reaching out for Derek’s waist to pull him closer.

Derek leaned his forehead against Stiles’, angling so he was putting his mouth just out of reach. Stiles tried not to grumble.

“Seriously, just put your tongue in my mouth.”

Derek outright laughed, and Stiles had to fight the urge just to shove him away, instead raising his eyebrow in question, face serious.

“Explain yourself, Hale.”

“I don’t want to do this here,” Derek expressed, softly, “If I kiss you now, I’m not going to be able to stop. I swear. I want to do this right, for once.”

Stiles groaned and pushed his face into the pillow.

“Literally Sandra Bullock,” he moaned, feeling Derek’s lips along the shell of his ear, his huff of laughter again.

“I think she’s pretty hot.”

“Shut up.”

/ / /

**[ 1 9 9 3 // D e c e m b e r ]**

The supermarket was busy, as it always was on a Friday evening, and even though she was only a third of the way through the weekly shopping trip, Claudia had already run the cart into four people. And John was staring at her like she was crazy, a hint of concern in his eyes as Claudia apologised profusely to Mr Jacobs.

“Hey,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “You in there, Ceej?”

“Kale,” she said, quickly, “We need kale.”

John grimaced at the mention of kale, and Claudia momentarily felt bad about sending him to look for it, knowing he was thoroughly against the green stuff (cabbage in general, which Claudia actually found hilarious and adorable, considering he had Polish heritage like her). It was easier to explain than her freaking out because she’d seen a familiar car in the parking lot.

Talia was supposed to be lying low. Why would she be shopping during peak hours?

John dumped the kale into the cart with a look of disgust, which melted into one of concern as turned back to Claudia.

“Okay,” he said, lips pulling into a frown, “I was hoping maybe you didn’t see it too but now it’s obvious that you did, and I’m thinking we should leave before you have a meltdown.”

“I’m fine, John. I swear, I’m just—” instantly she could tell he wasn’t buying it, he knew she was freaking out because her werewolf ex-bestfriend was somewhere in this building. “—wondering how the hell we’re gonna get all this food into your tiny bachelor refrigerator.”

John scoffed, and rolled his eyes, “It’s not a bachelor fridge anymore. Not when there’s two of us in the apartment. But… if you’re really that concerned, I can bring back the kale.”

“No, we need it,” Claudia said, trying very hard not to laugh at the very distraught look on her boyfriend’s face. “I’ll think of a solution.”

“Well… this isn’t exactly a quick fix, more of a long term solution,” John said, leaning against the side of the cart, “But, we could move out of the shoebox.”

“Move _out_ of the shoebox?” Claudia feigned a gasp, surprised that John would even consider leaving his baby. “I thought you loved your place.”

“Mmm, yeah, but I was thinking maybe _we_ could get a place,” John said, tentatively, and Claudia pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow at him, “A place you wouldn’t refer to as _my_ place. Together, I mean.”

“Like, a bigger apartment?” she asked, and John huffed out a laugh, tilting his head.

“I mean, like a house.”

Claudia froze up. Things had been going so well lately. She had a great job, a great boyfriend. They’d gotten into a routine, gotten domestic. He said ‘I love you’ every night when he put his arms around her, and she whispered right back, just as softly. But the difference between staying at his apartment, and actually _buying a house_ with him was staggering.

“Isn’t that… isn’t that more of a thing we’d do if we were married?”

John only grinned wider, “Do you want to be?”

“What?”

“Married, do you want to marry me?”

“I— yes? Are you asking? Right now?”

“Yeah, I’m asking. Do you need me to get down on one knee?”

“We’re in a supermarket.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“I’m not _saying_ no. I’m saying yes. I _already_ said yes.”

“Well, good. So we’re getting married.”

“Yes we are,” Claudia said, a little shocked as she began to push the cart again, and John followed dutifully, curling a hand around her wrist until she took her hand away from the grip bar to hold his. He shot her another worried look when she didn’t even comment on the pop tarts he was putting into their cart.

“Was that weird?” he asked.

“Yeah, but you know I’m into that shit,” Claudia said, shooting him a sidelong smirk.

“You’re already worried about your parents,” he said, softly, knowingly.

“Nah, they love you. I mean, there’s been the odd age-difference comment from my dad, but he knows you’re a great guy. They might think it’s a little soon.”

“Do _you_ think it’s soon?”

Claudia shot him another smirk. “I’ve known you since I was fifteen years old. Shush.”

John was still chuckling softly when they tured the corner at the end of the aisle, and then his laughter cut off altogether, abruptly. Claudia felt her stomach drop suddenly when she realised why. Talia Hale was standing in front of them, her hands resting against the rail of a child’s buggy. Next to her, Laura was pushing a cart and looking proud as hell. Claudia’s eyes flicked down to the buggy, the little yellow-swathed bundle inside it, pink cheeks and big eyes staring back out at her, squirming.

Talia passed them, and smiled warmly.

“Congratulations,” she said, holding Claudia’s gaze, and Claudia felt herself nodding in return.

“You too,” she said, weakly, jerking her head towards the new baby in the pram. Taliagently squeezed John’s arm as she moved past them.

“Bye,” Laura called, and Claudia raised her hand to wave, a little timidly. She didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until they were out of sight again, and she had to gasp for air. John put his hand on her back, gently guiding her a few aisles over, thumb rubbing calming little circles into her back.

“What the hell,” he muttered, eyes just a fraction wider than usual. “What was that?”

“She, uh,” Claudia took a deep breath, shook her head, “Must have heard us.”

“You okay?”

“Me?” Claudia squared her shoulders, trying to appear more cool and calm, even though she knew she was visibly shaken. “I’m fine. I’m great. Let’s go to the checkout.”

“I— the checkout?”

“Yeah. Let’s go home and start checking the realty section in the paper.”

John hesitated for a moment, looking both shocked and worried, before he curtly nodded his head. “Ok,” he said, gently, “Let’s get out of here.”

It wasn’t until much later, when she thought John was asleep, that Claudia finally brought herself to admit, “I miss her,” and then barely managed not to sob when his arms briefly tightened around her.

“I know, baby,” he sighed. “I know.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

**[ 2 0 1 3 // J u n e & J u l y ]**

These days, Derek did a lot of ‘(insert number) years ago I would have never—’ thinking about his life. He’d never really imagined himself ever attending another graduation (Cora had her GED now), but then Malia had shown up at the loft in late May, looked Derek dead in the eye, and told him she wanted him there when she walked, and received her diploma. Of course, Derek was honoured to be asked. Malia had worked _hard_ to graduate with the other teens, and they were _family,_ so he’d pulled her in for a hug and told her he was proud of her. Then she’d had to leave again because Stiles was making some soft of ‘awesome salad’ for dinner and she was starving, apparently.

(Sometimes Derek wondered if it was weird that Malia still lived at the Stilinski house, but then he realised it would be weirder if she lived anywhere else.)

That was how Derek found himself sitting in the bright sun, in rows of folding chairs on the lawns of Beacon Hills High. He’d somehow ended up perched between Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa McCall, which he supposed was better than sitting with the Yukimuras who were still wary of him, or Liam (sitting on the other side of The Sheriff) who was still kind of wary of Derek, but came to cheer his Alpha on. Both Lydia’s parents were in attendance and were making a show of being civil, but the Sheriff made his dislike of Mr Martin very obvious, and didn’t even bother hiding his fondness for Natalie.

The ceremony opened with a surprisingly polite and keen salutatory from Stiles, with some subtle digs towards Lydia for pipping him to the valedictorian post. But where Stiles’ grades were perfect, he lacked her extracurriculars and eloquence — or at least that’s what he’d said when he’d explained it to Derek, who still had trouble believing Stiles had perfect grades.

Lydia later made an _un_ surprisingly wonderful, witty, poignant speech, filled with enthusiasm and pride over how far every one had come, and how lucky they were to have made it this far, coupled with some meaningful eye contact across the group of friends who sat up ahead in their maroon robes. Derek could see Stiles in the throng, squeezing Scott’s hand tightly in his, and Lydia had to pause for a minute to compose herself. Derek thought of Allison.

Eventually, it was time for the names to be called, and one by one, everyone got up to collect their diplomas. Derek couldn’t help but laugh and join in, as every time one of the gang’s name was called, John and Melissa’s cheering only got louder. Scott was called after Lydia, and Melissa grabbed one of Derek’s hands and squeezed so tight it hurt. Derek’s heart swelled when Stiles stumbled on his walk, typically, but then righted himself and dramatically rolled his eyes for the sake of the crowd.

Then Malia’s name was called, and Derek almost fell out of his seat when both John and Melissa stood up and cheered, clapping joyfully. After barely a moments hesitation, he stood up too and joined them, and Malia’s grin was so bright it was almost blinding.

Kira was the last to walk, and then it was over, and there were mortarboards sailing through the air.

And they had made it through graduation.

/ / /

Derek wasn’t sure how he got invited to the beach thing, he hadn’t even known there _was_ a beach thing. Then Mrs Yukimura had made some noise about how she was wary of the kids going away without a chaperone. John had laughed it off, even going as far to remind her that all the kids weren’t actually kids anymore. The majority of them were eighteen and therefore acting as their own chaperones, as well as to keepers of Mason and Liam.

“And Derek’s coming,” Stiles had butted in, poking his head in between John and Derek to insinuate himself into the conversation. Scott and Kira appeared on the other side of the congregation on the lawn, nodding in agreement.

“I am?” Derek asked, and Stiles beamed widely at him, nodding, “I am.”

And that had been largely the only negotiation on the subject. Stiles later admitted he’d been waiting until he could get Derek alone to invite him, but Noshiko had beat him to the post. That was how, three days later, he ended up in the back of the Jeep with Malia, with Lydia riding up front with Stiles. Shortly behind them in Kira’s car were Scott, Mason and Liam.

“Back when things were good with my parents we used to go down to the beach a lot. Mom liked the water, we barely spent any time at home between the beach and the lake,” Lydia said freely, her hand in her hair as she leaned against the window.

“Explains why you’re one of the few houses in BH with a pool,” Stiles said, nodding, and Lydia beamed over at him.

“Nice observation. Turn left up here.”

Derek could already smell the ocean. Next to him, Malia’s eyes were closed, enjoying the breeze that blew back from Stiles’ window. There was just something about the smell of the water that made this feel like true freedom. He could almost taste it, in the back of his throat.

The house appeared small from the outside, painted an eggshell blue and looking fragile in the sand. Malia and Lydia disappeared to find the landlord of the seafront and sign for the keys, while Derek and Stiles went on a perimeter check and waited for the others to arrive.

Except Stiles couldn’t wait.

“Wha- Where are you going,” Derek asked, confused, as Stiles suddenly started to walk with purpose towards the ocean.

“Look at all that water,” he said loudly, over the waves and the coastal wind, “Haven’t been here in years.”

Despite the fact that Beacon Hills wasn’t all that far from the coast, it seemed like everyone had been too caught up in their lives to stray very far from the town.

“Are you getting in the water?” Derek asked, confused.

“Why not?” Stiles asked, looking a little wild-eyed as he took off his shoes, and dropped them in the sand, staring to unzip his hoodie. Underneath he wore a white t-shirt, paired with a pair of jean shorts that were really no defence against that ocean breeze. He looked happy though, and Derek couldn’t help but laugh at the very _un_ manly shriek Stiles let out when his toes touched the water, and the waves washed in around his bare knees.

Stiles retreated very quickly, teeth chattering, his hair a windswept mess as he bounced back to Derek.

“Hug me I’m cold.”

“Your hoodie is right there.”

“Yeah but it has sand on it now,” Stiles grimaced.

“If you’re worried about getting sand on things, you probably came to the wrong place,” Derek said, raising both eyebrows, and Stiles gave his shoulder a shove, the other arm still wrapped around himself.

“Don’t be an asshole, just shower me with affection,” Stiles grumbled, and Derek laughed under his breath before unzipping his own hoodie and then attempting to zip it up around the two of them - which was quite a stretch. “What are you doing,” Stiles grumbled, trying to look over his shoulder.

“It seemed romantic but you’re bigger than I thought.”

“Heh. That’s what she—”

“Please don’t.”

Stiles spared Derek the embarrassment of the innuendo, instead leaning forward to press their mouths together, just as Derek finally got the hoodie zipped up around them both, probably irreversibly stretched out of shape. Up at the house, there was a loud cheer, and Derek twisted his head to see Kira and Mason high-fiving, and Scott giving them a delighted thumbs up.

“Well I guess that cat’s out of the bag,” Stiles said, even though neither he nor Derek had been actively trying to hide their feelings. (Derek figured, if they _had_ been, they weren’t doing a very good job of it.)

Suddenly, recognition flashed across Malia’s face, and she shouted, “Are those _my shorts_?!”, startling a laugh out of Derek.

“ _No_!” Stiles shouted back, pointedly, “These are _men’s_ shorts.”

Malia neatly hopped over the fence and began to jog down towards them on the beach, and Stiles flailed — or, flailed as best he could, trapped inside the hoodie with Derek.

“Derek, let me out,” he whispered, a little panicked, shaking with the laughter reverberating from Derek’s chest. As Malia got closer, she only got faster, until she was sprinting down the beach and Stiles was thrashing, trying to wriggle out of Derek’s grip.

“Derek, let me—” Stiles’ voice raised to an alarming pitch, before Malia collided with both of them, and sent all three of them sprawling across the sand. “ _—oof_.”

Stiles spat out some sand, and wriggled his hands up high enough to wedge his fingers in under Derek’s ribs, tickling him into rolling until he was alleviating some of his weight off of Stiles. Even then, he couldn’t move much.

“I hate you,” he said, pointedly, trapped beneath both the werewolf and the werecoyote. “Both.”

“No you don’t,” Derek and Malia said, in perfect unison, when ended up sounding a little creepier than they’d both intended. Stiles laughed, his head thumping back against the sand. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I really don’t.”

/ / /

Once Stiles had managed to untangle himself from Malia and Derek, he salvaged his hoodie from the sand, and the three of them trudged back up to the house where everyone was bringing their bags inside and getting settled. 

“There are three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a pull out couch,” Scott informed them all, appearing from a small corridor, with four doors leading off it. “Two rooms are queen beds, and the third has two twins. So, who’s sleeping where?”

Everyone looked a little tense and confused for a moment, until someone spoke up.

“Well it’s obvious,” Lydia said, authoritatively from her perch on the breakfast bar of the kitchenette, “Scott and Kira get a queen. Malia and I get a queen. Liam and Mason can have the twin beds, and Derek and Stiles can have the sofa bed.”

“Why do you and Malia get the big bed?” was Liam’s only protest.

“Because we’re ladies and we’re the oldest here, after Derek.” Lydia reasoned. Stiles had to admit, it did make more sense than any of the other options he could come up with. Scott and Kira would want to be together, regardless. Stiles supposed he could bunk with Malia or Lydia, but any pairing of the remaining four seemed odd to him. Any scenario in which he got to stay with Derek got his thumbs up.

That evening they didn’t do much more than start up the barbecue on the patio, grill some burgers and drink a couple of beers. After a while, Derek was deep in conversation with Lydia about the aconite they used in the alcohol for the weresomethings, obviously worried but curious all the same, while she assured him it was very safe (or as safe as getting drunk _could_ be).

Everyone stayed out on the patio, lounging and chatting, laughing. Looking around at his friends, Stiles still found it hard to believe that they’d made it to graduation. Sure, Mason and Liam had a couple of years to go yet, but things were quieter in Beacon Hills. Stiles could count on one hand the trouble that had arisen in the last six months.

And this new thing with Derek, well. Stiles wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, but the prospect of it made him happier than he’d felt in _years._

As it got late, everyone began to drift off towards bed. Scott and Kira were the first to go, and Stiles - true to tradition - dragged Scott down with his hands cupped around his face and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

“You’re my _best friend_ ,” he shouted.

“You’re _my_ best friend,” Scott shouted back, and Kira just laughed, still a little wide-eyed from seeing them kiss (Stiles had a sneaking suspicious that she was kind of into it). In fact, Stiles kissed _everyone_ as they wandered off towards bed. Lydia was the last to go, trying to squirm away from Stiles, laughing as he peppered her face with very soft smooches.

“God, you’re so—” a laugh bubbled out of her as she pressed her palm to his mouth and directed him away, “I think we’ll moderate your drinking from tonight on.”

“Not even drunk,” Stiles said, even though his brain helpfully reminded him that he was, actually, somewhat drunk. Merry, at least. “I’m fine.”

Lydia, who had somehow managed to wriggle away from Stiles, shook her head.

“ _Goodnight_ ,” she said, pointedly to him. “Goodnight, Derek.”

“Night,” Derek said, looking amused from where he was spread out on a lounger. Stiles had noticed he’d taken his chaperoning duties very seriously, and had only had one drink. Still, it had seemed to loosen him up a _little…_ even though Stiles thought that Derek didn’t need a whole lot of loosening up these days. With Lydia gone, Stiles happily cuddled down onto sun lounger next to Derek, content for it to just be the two of them now. The chill of the night was sobering, and he wanted to stay warm and floaty so he pulled Derek’s free arm around him, immediately going boneless and easy when Derek responded with a gentle squeeze.

“Just you and me, big guy,” Stiles said, walking his fingertips across Derek’s chest, before flicking him under the chin. Derek just snorted and swatted him away, but he had a fond look in his eyes so Stiles didn’t take it as irritation. They stayed there, quiet for a long time, and Stiles was just beginning to drift off when he heard Derek speaking again, very softly.

“You’re so easy with affection.”

Stiles briefly remembered the way they’d played on the beach earlier, what he’d said to goad Derek into cuddling him. _Don’t be an asshole, just shower me with affection_.

“I used to not be,” Stiles admitted, propping his chin up against Derek’s chest. “I used to be kind of uptight about it. I loved my mom and dad, and I loved Scott. Mom died, and I got even more uptight about it. Kind of refused to care about other people. Gained me a reputation as a bit of an ass, too. But I didn’t care, because I wasn’t the one getting hurt.”

The arm Stiles had pulled around him tightened as Derek squeezed him.

“What changed?”

Stiles shrugged. “Better to have loved and lost, as the old saying goes.”

Derek was silent for a while, almost long enough that Stiles was began to drift off.

“Bullshit,” Derek whispered, huffing softly before resting his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “But life is too short, and I think we both understand that all too well.”

Derek made a quiet, agreeing noise, he pressed his nose to Stiles’ ear, kissing the shell of it very gently. “Want to go inside?”

The thought of the sofa bed waiting for them, the soft sheets he’d seen Lydia leaving out for them earlier, called to Stiles. He nodded eagerly, and got up off the lounger with Derek. Unfortunately, being the last people awake and about meant they also had to clean up. It didn’t take very long to bring in the bottles and leftover plates from the dinner that evening, but the systematic way he and Derek worked together seemed to chase away any sleepiness. He helped Derek fold out the bed, put the sheets on, fluffing the pillows and grabbing the comforter. 

It felt strangely domestic, standing in the bathroom and brushing his teeth next to Derek. In a strange house, the sounds of the ocean in the background and just them standing together, he could almost imagine that it was all theirs.

“I feel like I’m slightly in the future,” Stiles said, around his toothbrush, and Derek gave him a side-eye in the mirror. Stiles choked on his toothpaste, laughing as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the others. Derek gently nudged him with his elbow, and Stiles settled down again, smiling down at the sink as he continued to brush.

It wasn’t until they were getting into the bed, that Derek spoke again.

“I wouldn’t mind if this is what the future held in store for me,” he said, “…for us.”

Stiles felt his mouth curving into a smile as Derek went to turn out the lights, and then made his way back to join him. He was suddenly filled with the overwhelming realisation that Derek had understood what he meant in the bathroom. And that maybe he wanted it too, someday.

“Hey. Get over here,” he said, barely recognising the pitch of his own voice; low and wanting.

Derek slid in under the comforter, his feet brushing Stiles’ as he shifted in closer.

“I’m right here,” he said, even though Stiles could just (barely) make out his shadow, the shape of him in the dark. Stiles huffed out a soft little laugh, and reached out slowly, hands cupping Derek’s face.

“Well, get closer.”

Derek leaned in and closed the last remaining space between them, and Stiles’ eyes fluttered closed as he felt the smile on Derek’s lips with his own. Knowing that he’d be split from his friends over the next couple of months due to college, Stiles had been using his time with the pack very wisely. Quiet moments like this with Derek didn’t come very often, and Stiles _craved_ them.

Stiles shifted closer, hooking his ankles around Derek’s calves and pushing into the kiss a little harder, until he could feel teeth behind lips. Derek’s hands gripped his biceps, a groan bubbling up from his chest — immediately answered by Stiles.

He must have gotten too eager, because Derek pulled away. Like he always did.

Stiles blinked, panting hard already, heart thumping. Derek’s cheeks were flushed, but he was smiling, chin dipped towards his chest. Stiles huffed, rubbed the ball of his foot over Derek’s ankle, thighs rubbing, _almost_ friction.

"Why are we taking this so slow? Why are you being so cautious?” he asked, fighting to keep the _whine_ out of his voice. Derek’s gaze lifted, looking suitably chastised.

“I’ve always just jumped straight into the sex in the relationship,” he said, honestly, “It’s the one thing I know I’m good at.”

Stiles bumped the tip of his nose over Derek’s, dragging it down along his cheekbone. “See, I wouldn’t know that. Because you won’t sex me.”

Derek huffed out a laugh, and twisted his head slightly to gently peck Stiles on the mouth, moving his big hands up and down along the length of Stiles’ arms. Soothing as the motion was, Stiles couldn’t help but feel a knot of worry forming in his stomach.

“You gotta know this is different, Derek. You _have_ to,” he breathes. “We’re different. I don’t want to go slow. I want _you_.”

“It’s because of how much I feel for you,” Derek admitted, voice soft. “And there has to be _some_ method to the old fashioned waiting-for-marriage idea.”

“Derek, I swear to _god—_ ”

Derek laughed again, quieter this time, rubbing his face beneath Stiles’ jaw. “You’ll wake everyone up,” he said, “You have to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” Stiles breathed, realising he was grinding against Derek’s thigh just a little. He was getting hard, always did when they got this close. “I can be quiet as a mouse.”

Derek grinned, nipping at the skin of Stiles’ throat, all in play. And then Stiles just— “ _Please_ ,” he whispered, “Please, I just want…”

“What do you want?” Derek asked, sounding a little wrecked already, and Stiles nearly climbed him right there but just barely restrained himself. The buzz he felt was nothing to do with whatever he’d been drinking earlier, it was all feeding off the way Derek touched him so surely. It was the soft scrape of blunt nails over his bare skin, back and forth, probably intending to sooth but really just ramping him up even further.

“Anything,” Stiles continued to whisper, holding the back of Derek’s head, tilting his face away and giving Derek better access to his neck, “Give me your hand. Keep touching me.”

Stiles caught Derek’s hand in his, and led it down to firmly cup his cock through his briefs. Derek barely did anything more than give him a gentle squeeze, and Stiles was groaning, rolling his hips forward into the touch.

_“Shhh_ ,” Derek soothed, and Stiles clashed their mouths together in a sharp little kiss, not even caring that it felt as needy as it did. “Quiet, remember?”

Stiles hadn’t been lying about knowing how to be quiet. He’d been living in his house with Malia for the year they’d been together, and quietly fooling around when his dad was home had been their speciality. But, Stiles realised with sobering clarity, he’d never really felt like _this_ with Malia. Derek was in a league of his own.

Derek managed to push Stiles’ briefs down to his thighs, and Stiles sucked in a quivering gasp as he felt the heat of Derek’s palm around the length of his cock. All of a sudden, all he could feel was the hot friction there, Derek’s curious fingers feeling out the shape of him, dipping down to cradle his balls.

“Wish I could see you better,” Derek murmured, head bent to look between the two of them, and Stiles was too dumbfounded to reply. He dropped his head against Derek’s, breathing through the pleasure, having forgotten the sensation of being touched by someone else and how intense it could be. 

“ _Derek_ ,” he breathed, “—wanna touch you too. Let me jerk you off, god, please—”

“Thought you said you could be quiet,” Derek said, sounding like it was an effort just to get the words out, because Stiles was already pushing his boxer briefs down his thighs, hooking a foot in to shove them all the way down. Eyes slightly better adjusted, he could see the outline of Derek’s cock as it sprung from beneath the waistband - and the feeling of it in his hand was even better.

Stiles was distracted then by a particularly cruel tug from Derek — but cruel in the way it made his eyes roll back, made him momentarily forget about jerking Derek off too.

“You always get this wet?” Derek asked, and Stiles groaned softly, pushing his hips in closer to Derek’s. He shook his head. He wanted to tell Derek everything; how he’s never felt so turned on, how it was impossible to feel anything but the slick way Derek’s hand moved over him, faster now that Stiles was panting louder.

He had his hand still on Derek’s cock, unmoving, just his fingers circled around the base of it. It must have been maddening for Derek, but the only presence of Stiles’ mind was the thought that he couldn’t wait to feel it inside him. They wouldn’t get to that tonight — probably wouldn’t get to it in the entire trip — but the thought of what it would feel like when they _did._ Man, that was getting him off more than anything.

“So close,” he breathed out against Derek’s mouth.

“I know,” Derek murmured, nipping at Stiles’ lower lip, “Your heart’s beating so fast. What are you thinking about, huh? ’S it me?”

Stiles whined, trying to fuck up into Derek’s grip, trying to get there faster.

“Thinkin’ about you. Always.”

“Me?”

“ _God_ , I want you to fuck me. I want you to be the first,” he said, eyes closing, hands roaming, touching as much of Derek as possible. He smoothed his hands over Derek’s chest, fingers slipping through the thick, dark thatch of hair there, palming over his nipples.

“Hey,” Derek said, and Stiles felt lips against his forehead, his temple, his cheeks. “Look at me.”

Stiles lifted his head, gasping for air as he met Derek’s eyes, finding Derek already looking at him, watching him so intensely — it was like something inside of Stiles snapped. He moaned, the noise sharp and breathy, like it was being punched out of him as he came. His mouth fell open, slack with pleasure, burying his face against Derek’s neck as Derek tenderly stroked him through it, firm and sure, until Stiles couldn’t take it anymore, and pushed his hand away.

“I’m actually the worst,” he said quietly, breathless, opening his eyes and then having to close them again very quickly; the sight of Derek _licking Stiles’ come off his hand_ was all too much for his current fragile state.

“No you’re not,” Derek said, a hint of laughter to his voice.

“I don’t usually let myself come first. I’m actually the worst boyfriend, I’m _so_ sorry.”

Derek grinned at him in the darkness.

“Boyfriend?”

“…Well,” Stiles shrugged his shoulders tiredly. “Duh. I don’t just let anyone jerk me off. Only losers I’m in it for the long haul with. Now do I get to suck you or what?”

Derek, still grinning, didn’t even bat an eyelash. He just shook his head, minutely, before cupping the back of Stiles’ head and pulling him in for a quick kiss, which Stiles quickly tried to deepen despite the fact that he could taste himself of Derek’s mouth. It wasn’t _entirely awful._

“You’re about to pass out.”

“No ‘m not.”

“Yeah,” Derek laughed, unabashedly rubbing off against Stiles’ thigh, “You are.”

“I can be quick.”

“Oh, like you can be quiet?” Derek teased, his voice low, and Stiles got his hand back between them, making his fist a channel for Derek to fuck into.

“You _like_ when I talk,” Stiles murmured, not so subtly tightening his grip, and smirking when Derek’s breath caught. It took maybe 3, 4 more thrusts, and Stiles’ sleepy encouragement to get Derek off. Afterwards, Derek listened for a moment to make sure everyone else was still asleep, before tiptoeing into the bathroom to grab a washcloth for the clean up.

“Hey, you’re cool with the boyfriend thing, right?” Stiles asked, tentatively, when Derek was climbing back under the covers next to him. He settled into being the little spoon like it was a second skin, Derek’s arms around him. “It didn’t freak you out? We’re cool.”

Derek nuzzled against the back of his shoulder, and Stiles felt himself starting to drift, warm and happy, “Yeah. We’re cool.”

/ / /

**[ 1 9 9 4 // M a r c h ]**

“We’re going to have to send them out eventually,” John said, peering around the doorway into the kitchen.

Claudia jolted in surprise, scattering the envelopes in her hands all over the tiled floor. John chuckled, bending down to pick them up as Claudia moved from her perch atop a pile of boxes.

“Wedding’s in less than three months. People need time to make arrangements and reply.”

“I know, I just…” Claudia trailed off, sighing softly, and John vaguely wondered if she’d even known where she was going with that sentence. She picked up a singular invite, the one that had been at the top of pile when she’d still been holding them.

It was addressed to the Hales. 

“So… are you sending that?”

Claudia bit her lip, “Yeah. But— I’m scared they won’t come… scared they will.”

John shrugged, “It’s good to be scared. It means you still care.”

“I’ll always care,” Claudia sighed, holding out the invite for him to take from her. Instead, John circled his fingers around her wrist, pulled her into his chest.

“It’s why I love you,” he said, planting a kiss at the crown of her head.

“I love you more.”

“Hey, you feel like getting take out? I haven’t unpacked any of this kitchen stuff yet,” John said idly, always good at diverting Claudia’s attention from what bothered her. He felt her turn her face into his chest, and had learned to pick out that tone of voice that meant she was smiling. “I’m thinking Chinese,” he added.

“Maybe we can stop at a mailbox on the way,” she said, tapping a finger against the invites in his hand.

“Why yes, maybe we can,” he said, gently sliding his fingers through hers. Claudia snatched up the keys of her Jeep from the counter.

“Lead the way, Deputy Dumpling.”

At the mailbox, Claudia insisted on kissing each letter for luck, and the kissing John for luck each time — until it eventually devolved into them just making out against the mailbox and getting chastised by some poor postal worker who, _really_ , was just trying to do his job. 

/ / /

**[ 2 0 1 3 // J u l y ]**

Derek woke as Scott stumbled out into the living area, rubbing at his eyes. He noted the way Scott’s face scrunched up as he got close to the sofa bed, and how he suppressed a laugh as he met Derek’s eye.

“You guys didn’t waste any time,” Scott said as he walked past into the kitchen. Derek snorted softly, and looked over to where Stiles had practically burrowed underneath him during the night, and slowly began to extract himself. Stiles made a noise of disagreement before spreading out in the warmth Derek left behind. Derek searched around, finding one of Stiles’ hoodies draped over the back of the couch and zipping it up over his bare chest.

“It wasn’t planned or anything,” Derek said, finding his voice rough as he made his way over to where Scott was going through the groceries they had brought with them yesterday. “I was actually trying to make him wait.”

Scott snorted, “I’m just glad you can both stop _pining_ the whole time.”

“I did not _pine_ ,” Derek protested, picking out a grapefruit from the bag of fruit Lydia had left on the counter. Scott just levelled him with an unimpressed stare, and Derek rolled his eyes. “I _yearned_ a little, maybe.”

“A _lot_ ,” Scott corrected, making a little noise of triumph when he found the pancake batter. “Thank god that’s over.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t drive each other mad now,” Derek said, fondly casting a glance over towards the back of the couch, knowing Stiles was just beyond it.

“I think you’ll be good for each other,” Scott said, passing Derek a knife for his grapefruit, “You’re both equal amounts of crazy, and crazy for each other. I think it’ll be good.”

“It’s already good,” Derek said, grabbing a spoon, taking a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar.

“Yeah, judging by the smell in here,” Scott muttered, and Derek groaned loudly, putting down his fruit to cover his eyes in embarrassment. He didn’t need to see the smug look on Scott’s face.

“I’ll go open the patio door,” Derek sighed, getting up again.

“Hey, you don’t have to just yet,” Scott said, gently, “Listen, I understand what it’s like, getting to smell you and your… partner. Like _that_. And as an alpha, I can appreciate it as new bonds, making the pack stronger. The others might find it a little offensive to the nose but it’s ok. I know what it means to you.”

Derek huffed in amusement, keeping his chin tucked close to his chest. He sat back down to eat, just as Stiles began to stir and make noise from the couch.

“Wh— huh? Where—” Stiles sat up abruptly, his hair flat on one side, tired-eyed as he looked around, and grinning as he caught sight of the boys eating breakfast. He got up on his knees,resting on his elbows over the back of the couch. “ _Hey,_ ” he croaked.

Stiles clambered over the back of the sofa, shivering in the cool air as his feet touched the tile.

“It’s cold and someone took my hoodie,” he groused, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he got close to Derek. Scott snorted loudly, muttering ‘ _smooth_ ’ under his breath.

“Guess I’ll have to—”

“If you say ‘warm you up’ I’m disowning you both,” Scott said seriously, as he rummaged for a griddle for the pancakes.

Derek took Stiles by the elbows and pulled him in, spreading his legs to get him as close as possible. He leaned into Stiles ear.

“Let me warm you up,” he said, quietly as he possibly could, and Stiles made a soft, pleased sound when Derek’s arms closed around him. He groaned, tilting his hips into Derek’s, and Derek hooked a foot around his ankle to hold him there— and Scott dropped several pots and pans to the floor.

Stiles straightened up (so quickly that Derek heard a crack somewhere), clearing his throat loudly. His cheeks were pink but he was grinning when he said “Hey Scotty. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Derek.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but nodded towards Derek anyway, in mock-greeting.

“Standard best friend speech. Hurt him and I’ll hurt you.”

Stiles snorted, taking Derek’s spoon and digging into the grapefruit, which he quickly abandoned on the grounds that it was ‘disgusting’ and ‘needed some fucking sugar’ (which he shouted, on his way to the bathroom).

Derek watched him until the door slammed shut, and shot a look back at Scott, who was watching with an unsurprised smile.

“Don’t worry about it, Scott,” Derek said, earnestly.

Scott patted him heavily on the shoulder.

“I won’t.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**[ 2 0 1 3 // J u l y ]**

So, it was kind of strange seeing Stiles and Derek being so — _sweet_ was not the word. They were being downright tender, Kira thought as she watched Scott, Liam and Derek surf out in the ocean. They played like kids, really, and she found it endearing.

Up the beach, Stiles and Mason were playing some sort of frisbee-like game that involved less frisbee tossing and more smacking one another in the face the with disc, and then wrestling to the sand. Every so often, Stiles got distracted when Derek caught a good wave, and a distant, enamoured look came across his face.

“I don’t think he ever looked at me like _that_ ,” Malia said idly, legs crossed on the sand, her hand in a bag of chips.

“I’m sure he did,” Kira said as sympathetically as she could, looking warily from Malia to Lydia, who was sitting on her other side.

Malia laughed, and seemed to be genuinely grinning. “No, I don’t think he did,” she said, conversationally, crunching on a potato chip, “And I’m glad. It’s kind of sickening.”

“They definitely had some sort of sex last night,” Lydia mused, “They look so… satisfied.”

“Couldn’t you smell it?” Malia asked, and Kira choked on her smoothie.

“Is _that_ why Scott had the patio doors wide open this morning?” she spluttered. Malia snorted, reaching across to offer her chips to Lydia, who delicately took one from the bag with a smile.

“It’s a very distinct smell,” Malia said.

“Spunk,” Lydia added, which was the last thing Kira had expected. A beat of silence passed before they were all cracking up. (Unnoticed by any of them, Derek got dumped by a wave, and Stiles laughed so hard that Mason was able to knock him right off his feet.)

They came in from the beach that evening to order in for dinner. Kira studied the local Italian restaurant’s menu, Scott wrapped around her back and peering over her shoulder. Stiles was tussling with Malia over pizza topping; he was trying to tickle her while she kneeled on his back, reading over her own menu. Derek was sprawled out on the couch next to them with the most unimpressed expression on his face.

“It’s nice that Stiles and Malia are still friends,” Kira said, not really even reading the menu anymore, just watching her friends play-fighting. “Do you think Derek ever gets jealous?”

“Nah,” Scott said, easily. “Derek and Malia are all the family they have right now. Peter’s gone, Cora’s not around much. They gotta love each other, they need that kind of relationship. Malia and Stiles grew apart romantically but not emotionally. They love each other, just not like _that._ Anyone in our situation needs to stick together. It’s instinct. You don’t have to be superhuman to feel it.”

“And what about Stiles and Derek?” Kira asked. “What’s that?”

Scott pressed a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder, and she could feel his smile against her skin.

“I think that’s just plain old fate.”

/ / /

Lydia’s throat was dry; she felt like she was burning up. Malia was a cuddler, who knew? Not to mention she was a supernatural furnace. It was barely 5:30am, but Lydia was crawling out of the sheets, leaving Malia to starfish out over the whole bed. She needed a glass of water.

The sound of giggling greeted Lydia when she reached the open plan kitchen/living-room, but Stiles and Derek seemed too wrapped up in each other to notice her. Or rather, Derek was wrapped up in Stiles. _Stiles_ was taking selfies.

“Hey, this one is nice,” Stiles mumbled, lowering the arm he was holding over his head to show Derek the photo he’d taken of them. Derek seemed to be nosing at the curve of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles shivered, pushing him away, but it was entirely noncommittal. “If you leave a mark, I will never hear the end of it.”

“But you mark up so easily,” Derek murmured. “So nicely.”

Stiles let out a low sound, something bordering on a moan, still snapping pictures from a nice high angle. Lydia felt momentarily proud that her flattering selfie lessons were being put to good use, and then realised she’d need to get her water before they started getting hot and heavy. It’s wasn’t that she would _mind_ seeing them, it’s just she didn’t want them to feel awkward. She wouldn’t want to ruin the heat of the moment.

“I’m just getting water,” she said, averting her eyes for the illusion of privacy as she walked past them and into the kitchen. Stiles startled spectacularly, but Derek barely moved, his eyes following her as she moved by.

She drank her water, pacing on the cold tiles and waiting for her body to cool down before she had to go back to Malia, who was apparently made of magma. Stiles and Derek’s banter had dialled down to a low murmur. By the time she passed by them again on the way back, they weren’t talking at all. Their mouths had found other uses.

Lydia missed having that; the early days of the relationship. The late nights of talking, the long hours of kissing. The stupid photos. It was something she hadn’t experienced in quite a while.

She took a moment to watch before she had to go back to bed. They weren’t embarrassed, why should she be? And Kira was right, she thought. There’d always been something ridiculously hot about the idea of Stiles and Derek together. 

The sight of it was even better.

/ / /

They didn’t sleep at all during that second night at the beach. Derek listened until he was sure that Lydia was asleep again, before throwing off the covers. Stiles whined, trying to wriggle in underneath Derek for warmth.

“What the hell, man. ’S fucking cold.”

Derek couldn’t resist, easily replying, “I’ll warm you up,” dry as ever.

“I hope to _god_ Scott never hears you say that.”

Derek ducked his head, biting sharply at Stiles’ throat. “Please don’t talk about Scott when I’m about to go down on you.”

Stiles made a sudden choked noise, going so still beneath Derek that he had to pull back to check on him. Stiles’ eyes were wide, dilated in the low light. Despite his complaint about the cold, his cheeks were suddenly flushed.

“You— um, _okay_ ,” Stiles breathed, his voice coming out a little caught.

“Okay? You don’t _look_ okay.”

“I’m fine, I’ve just,” Stiles cocked his head, looking a little uncomfortable, “—never done that.”

It was Derek’s turn to look shocked, sitting back on his heels to give Stiles some space. _This_ was something he was going to have to hear about.

“You’ve never had someone go down on you?”

Stiles, still looking uncomfortable, shrugged and pulled himself up into sitting position.

“You probably don’t want to hear about me having sex with your cousin, but it’s kind of necessary considering I’ve never been with anyone else.”

“I don’t care who you talk about as long as it helps us,” Derek said, honestly, “You look terrified right now.”

“This isn’t terror, this is abject excitement. Excitement to the point that it scares me,” Stiles said, a little jittery, but reaching out to place his hands against Derek’s forearms and rub them gently.

“Stiles,” Derek said, gently. “Talk. You and Malia were together for over a year. I don’t understand—”

“She had good control,” Stiles said, quickly. “But that’s all it was. _Good_. Better with pack, but never— not like Scott. Not like you.”

Derek nodded encouragingly, waiting for Stiles to continue.

“Sex was really the only thing that tested her control. I didn’t mind the scratches so much, I _liked_ that. Sometimes she showed her eyes and, well, that was hot.”

Derek’s eyes flashed instinctually, the bright and cold blue that marked Derek as dangerous yet still had Stiles suddenly biting his lip, stretching up to get closer to Derek.

“But the teeth, the fangs were the hardest to control. Almost impossible for her.”

Stiles quirked a suggestive eyebrow at Derek. As the implication dawned on him, Derek couldn’t hold it in anymore. His hands shot up to cover his mouth, trying to stay quiet for the sake of the sleeping pack, but it barely stifled his laughter. Stiles grinned, carefully pried Derek’s hands away so he could kiss him, pulling Derek down over him again.

“Don’t make me beg again, like _last_ night. That was embarrassing,” he breathed, and Derek couldn’t resist nipping softly at Stiles’ lower lip, rolling his hips down to find Stiles half hard already.

“More like, incredibly hot.”

The sun was just starting to rise as Derek slid Stiles’ briefs down his hips, spread his thighs, finally put his mouth on him. The _noise_ Stiles made — _god_ — was some sort of delicious cross between a laugh and a moan, not even caring how loud he was when he twisted his fingers up in Derek’s hair and rocked into his mouth. It was almost playful.

“Holy _god_ , Derek—” Stiles was babbling, the words almost indiscernible from his choked down gasps and moans. “Oh fuck, I gotta learn how to do this.”

Stiles was breathing hard, fast, speeding up even more the closer he got to orgasm. Derek moved freely with him, let him take what he wanted and push up into Derek’s mouth, hips moving off the sheets they’d spread beneath them, rambling about how fucking close he was, he was going to come, he was gonna— _oh god, Derek_ —

And then suddenly Stiles went still, making _that_ noise, that sharp, breathy, punched out moan. Derek’s new favourite sound.

Stiles looked blissfully tired and satisfied when he fell back against the pillows, shivering and panting, hand still gripping Derek’s hair.

“Two for two,” he said, drowsily. “Next time I’m gonna make _you_ come first. Make you come first _twice_ so you come first _and_ second.”

Derek laughed, kissing up along the curve of Stiles’ hipbone.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I bet you got something else you can hold against me right _now_.”

“Please stop talking,” Derek said, deadpan, so Stiles dragged him up to kiss him again, deep and wet. He let Derek press down against him, his tongue fucking into his mouth, like a request, like a promise.

“Let me do it for you,” Stiles breathed, “Just show me. Come here.”

As tempting as that was, tempting as it was to crawl up Stiles’ body and fuck his mouth, Derek felt Stiles needed to have the upper hand, here. Control was an important factor, even when you didn’t have fangs sprouting from your gums.

“Here,” Derek smoothed his hands over Stiles’ hips, pecked him softly on the mouth, “Switch with me.”

Stiles pushed Derek down on his back, quickly straddling his hips. The position, the way Derek’s cock brushed that tender spot behind Stiles’ balls, made them both go still. Stiles rocked experimentally after a moment, his eyes closing at the sensation, obviously still sensitive from his orgasm. He spread out his fingers over Derek’s chest, as if feeling his way, bracing himself.

“I want it like this,” he said, softly. “Not now, but… like this.”

Derek knew what he meant. Stiles meant, not _here_ , not on a fold-out-bed in a house that wasn’t theirs. Not until they were alone. Not until he could hear every little noise Stiles would make without it being heard by someone other than Derek.

“Me too,” he said, stroking his hands up Stiles’ thighs, squeezing gently. “Soon.”

Stiles jumped back into action then, ducking down and sucking Derek’s lip into his mouth, teeth catching as he smiled. He brushed his lips against Derek’s neck, licked at the skin before going lower, worrying his collarbones.

Stiles skipped over Derek’s stomach, which he was grateful for. He felt open like this, exposed; he didn’t like to be touched there like that. Not anymore.

“I know this, in theory,” Stiles said, and Derek fully shuddered when he felt lips pressing against the head of his dick, Stiles’ soft hum of approval. “But theory is just that. So tell me if I fuck up.”

And then Stiles lowered his mouth, warm and wet, around the girth of Derek’s cock. He was careful, taking it in slow into his mouth, feeling out with his tongue. He cleverly shielded his teeth, and all Derek could feel was hot suction — whatever it was the Stiles knew in theory, it was pretty damn good in practice.

Stiles found his limit near the base of Derek’s dick, but not quite, and circled his fingers around the remaining length. Derek couldn’t help but cry out as Stiles pulled up, started to bob his head, his mouth making quiet, slick, caught noises against the length in his mouth.

“That’s— fuck, that’s amazing,” Derek said softly, and Stiles’ eyes lifted to meet his. Derek felt his breath catch in his throat, thought that this must have been what it felt like when he told Stiles to look at him as he jerked him off the night before. It felt like there was a tight elastic band stretching between them, about to snap at any minute. It felt like he was about to come undone.

“Move your—” Derek didn’t even have to finish the instruction, before Stiles began to slide his fist up and down, following the path of his mouth, twisting every so often just to feel the way Derek’s hip’ jerked.

Carefully, he cupped Stiles’ jaw with his hand, running his thumb across the soft edge of it, then pushing against the corner of his mouth where it stretched around his cock. Stiles moaned softly, and Derek felt it all around him; Stiles twisted his head ever so slightly, just so Derek could feel the bulge of his cock through Stiles’ cheek on the palm of his hand.

“Stiles, I’m gonna come,” he warned, gently, and Stiles pulled off with a slow, languorous suck.

“Do it on my face,” he said, his voice just a little rough, his hand starting to blur over Derek’s cock as he stroked him faster, just to get him there. Stiles watched him with curious eyes, his gaze flickering between Derek’s face and his dick, ducking down briefly to lick at the head, rub it against his tongue and lips. “C’mon, Der, I want it.”

Derek couldn’t help the groan that left his chest then, and Stiles closed his eyes just in time, his lips falling into an open-mouthed smile as Derek reached his orgasm, striping Stiles’ face with come. Stiles jumped a little at the first contact, but if anything his grin just widened. If Derek wasn’t so out of it, he might have called it _basking_.

When Derek drifted back into reality, Stiles was kneeling patiently between his legs, blindly rubbing his palms over Derek’s thighs.

“I’m afraid to open my eyes,” he said softly, and sure enough there were drops of come pearling on his lashes. “I’ve had come in my eyes before — granted it was my own — but it was _not_ fun,” he explained, and Derek huffed out a soft laugh, using his thumbs to wipe away most of what he could. Gently, he pressed his mouth to Stiles’, tasting both of them on his tongue, breathing in Stiles’ satisfied sigh as they broke.

“I’ll get you a cloth.”

Once Stiles had his face cleaned, Derek opened the patio doors for the sake of Scott’s nose, and goes to join Stiles again in their bed. First though, he grabbed the edge of the couch, and pulled it around so the bed faced out towards the ocean through the doors. Stiles made a quiet, pleased noise as Derek put an arm around him, pulling him in against the side of his chest.

“So much for going slow,” Stiles murmured, and Derek couldn’t help but laugh.

“I never was one for sticking to a plan,” he admitted.

/ / /

It was Malia and Mason who finally managed to drag Stiles away from Derek that morning in order to go on a beer run, because Stiles’ ID was one of the few that worked, bizarrely. That didn’t seem to stop him from sulking in the passenger seat, and wincing every time the gear box of his Jeep crunched with Malia in the driver’s seat. And yeah, everyone was happy Stiles was happy, that Derek was happy, that they were both happy together, but— _god,_ Stiles and Derek’s brand of happiness needed airing out.

They stayed at the beach for five nights and six days. Scott and Liam did a lot of Alpha-beta bonding (which looked a lot like cuddling but no one commented). Malia, Lydia and Kira did girly things together and Malia even painted Stiles’ toenails when he fell asleep with his feet in her lap. When he woke, Lydia asked if she could do his makeup too, and Stiles would later profess that he’d been drunk when he agreed (false) but that he thought he looked wicked with winged eyeliner (true).

Mason grilled Stiles about what Derek was like, and Stiles had his first Proud Boyfriend experience, running his mouth for almost an hour until Kira dragged him away to help with dinner.

Derek, Scott and Liam went surfing early in the mornings... and Stiles sat grumpily in a blanket burrito on the sand, watching them, because Derek had woken him when he was getting out of bed. 

Somewhere along the way, Liam and Mason had pushed their twin beds together, and Malia had made some happy noise over breakfast about everyone having a cuddle buddy while snuggling into Lydia’s shoulder (and Liam had blushed so hard he had to leave the room). Derek and Malia took a long overdue walk-and-talk, and Derek told her about when he was younger, when Peter was one of his best friends. They talked about Stiles, and what he meant to them both and they’d both come back from it looking lighter than before.

After the second night, Stiles and Derek did little more than sleep in their sofa bed. There was a lot of kissing, sometimes undressing a little more than necessary, and definitely a lot of embarrassing/giggly mornings involving boners and super-senses, but a distinct lack of orgasms to Stiles’ disappointment.

It was on the last night, while everyone was playing some sort of truth-or-dare card game, that Derek caught Stiles’ hand in his, and suggested they go for a walk. Stiles grinned, knowing that if he was going to be alone with Derek, he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands off of him for long, _hell yeah_ he wanted to go for a walk. They _were_ officially in the honeymoon period, after all, but once everyone went back to Beacon Hills it would be business as usual. Stiles didn’t see a lot of Boyfriend Time in the upcoming weeks, so he didn’t mind leaving the group to head outside with Derek.

The sun had been set for a while, the sky a deep rich purple when Derek lead Stiles off the path and towards the dunes. It was nice just to hold hands at first — it made everything feel just a little more real.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked, bumping his shoulder into Derek’s as they walked.

“Nowhere specific.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully, a _I’m on to you_ kind of noise, as he wriggled his fingers in Derek’s grip.

“Out of earshot?”

“Scott is a powerful Alpha with a powerful pack. He could probably hear from here to Beacon Hills,” Derek shrugged, “But he respects our privacy. I just kind of wanted to be alone with you outside of our bed.”

_Our bed_ , just hearing Derek say it, still sent a thrill through Stiles’ body. He stopped them both in their tracks, cupping Derek’s cheek with his palm, and guiding him into a fast, firm kiss. If Stiles had thought the way Derek _talked_ was thrilling, it was nothing compared to the way he sunk so easily into Stiles’ mouth, hooking his arm around Stiles’ waist.

He smiled as they broke apart, bumping his nose against Stiles’ in a show of affection that their friends would have never let them live down had they seen it. Stiles had to agree with Derek; it was great just to be alone.

“What was that for?” Derek asked, still looking a little dazed.

“It’s just nice, hearing you talk about us like that,” Stiles shrugged, and Derek gave his hand a little squeeze, pulling him to get them moving again.

They walked in a comfortable silence for a couple more minutes, before finding a place in the grass, high up on the dune. Stiles flopped back onto the sand, head in a patch of grass, staring up at the sky. Derek lay down next to him, propped up on one elbow.

“You cold?” he asked.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“If you want to cuddle, we can just cuddle. We’re allowed now. That’s part of the boyfriend thing.”

Derek laughed, just a soft huff of breath, before he dropped down next to Stiles on the sand, leaning in close. Despite saying he wasn’t cold, Stiles realised that in comparison to the sheer heat of Derek, yeah, he might be a little chilly.

As he was pulled in for another kiss, a strange feeling settled in Stiles’ chest, something he hadn’t felt in quite a long time. Contentment wasn’t strong enough a word — too docile to describe the feeling, the sheer happiness and satisfaction that bubbled up in him.

The words slipped out as Derek’s thumbs brushed over his cheekbones and Stiles realised there might not be another moment in his life as perfect as this one.

“I love you too,” he said, sighing happily, his forehead resting against Derek’s. Derek went very still next to him, not rigid and scared, just — pleased, and revelling in the moment, and not wanting to disturb it by moving even an inch. Stiles opened his eyes again to find Derek so close that he was just out of focus, but undoubtedly smiling.

Derek lifted an eyebrow, his lip twitching as so he was struggle not to flat out grin.

“You what?”

“I’m not sure if I’m going to be very good at sharing my feelings and stuff. I mean, you told me you loved me, and I threw up on you.”

“That was more my fault than yours, though.”

“True,” Stiles rolled his eyes, trying not to recoil at the memory. “We both picked a bad time. I never got to say it back. But I do. Love you.”

Saying it feels like a weight off of his chest, like he’d been keeping a secret for too long. Maybe it was his imagination, but Derek’s shoulders felt just a little softer under his hands when they kissed again. Stiles finally exhaled, letting Derek tuck his face against his neck, looking up at the vast sky above them, at the stars you couldn’t always see from Beacon Hills. 

Soon, the heat of Derek’s body wasn’t enough, and he was shivering on the damp sand.

“Do you want to go back and see if anyone’s ready for bed?” Derek asked, and Stiles snorted. It wasn’t very likely that any of the gang were getting sleepy, meaning Stiles and Derek’s bed in the living room wouldn’t be free any time soon.

“Let’s just stay here a while longer,” he said, “Just me and you.”

He could brave a little cold in exchange for the quiet.

When they finally got back to the house (Derek had made Stiles put on his sweater when his teeth had started chattering, which Stiles had no complaints about because it meant Derek was shirtless) the gang had moved on from Truth or Dare to playing some kind of drinking game involving Taylor Swift lyrics, and jumping from one piece of furniture to the other. And possibly standing on one leg for as long as possible.

“So much for an early night,” Derek said, and Stiles laughed around a yawn when a tipsy Lydia wobbled barefoot on the couch, downing a shot.

“Hey, you can take our room,” Scott said, from where he was balancing on the coffee table, “Right, Kira?”

“Definitely,” Kira agreed, very seriously. “We’ll take the couch.”

Derek grinned wickedly, reaching down to squeeze Stiles’ wrist behind their backs “Will do.”

Stiles picked up his bag from where it was hiding behind the couch and brought it to the room Scott and Kira had been sharing. He’d only been in the bedrooms a few, brief times since they got to the beach and he hadn’t been in Scott and Kira’s at all, but it wasn’t much different from the others — sparsely furnished, but clean, a large bed pushed up underneath the window. Derek gathered up Scott and Kira’s things and left them outside the door, while Stiles gave up on moving entirely and collapsed on the bed. It’d been a long day, starting at 6am with surfing and then continuing on with the physical activity and declarations of love. He hadn't realised how exhausted he was.

He was asleep before Derek even turned around.

/ / /

In the past five days and nights, Derek had learned that _no one_ took spooning quite as seriously as Stiles Stilinski did. It was like Stiles had a mental checklist of things he needed for a night of good sleep. He needed his pillow — worn and soft, smelling like the hot skin at the back of Stiles’ neck, and Derek kind of loved it and would consider stealing it if Stiles wasn’t so attached. If he was sharing a bed with someone, Stiles needed to be the little spoon, and ‘as close to the middle of the bed as possible’. He didn’t like to share his pillow. It didn’t really matter to Derek. He was content just to be there, to be next to Stiles, and to make him happy.

Mornings were an entirely different ordeal. Despite Stiles’ sleep requirements, once he was out, he tended to move a lot. He squirmed, he snuggled down, he spread out over Derek like a blanket or clung to him like a limpet. Derek shouldn’t have found it quite as endearing as he did. He never knew what position they would wake up in.

The last morning at the beach however, Derek woke in the same position he fell asleep in. After coming back into the bedroom to find Stiles passed out on the bed, he’d carefully manoeuvred Stiles under the covers into the middle of the bed with his pillow, removed his denim shorts, and then crawled into bed to spoon up behind him.

Stiles was awake now though, playing with Derek’s hand, his face nestled in the crook of Derek’s elbow. Derek rubbed his nose at the nape of Stiles’ neck to let him know he was awake too, gently squeezing an arm around his waist. He listened for noises of the pack ambling around the house, or maybe still sleeping, but heard nothing. The house sounded empty.

“What time?” he mumbled, and Stiles stretched to grab his phone off the window above the bed, where Derek had left it the night before.

“Nearly eleven. I’m surprised we slept so long.”

“You were out like a light,” Derek murmured, and felt Stiles’ soft chuckle in return.

“Our last night alone together. Wild.”

Derek tried to push down the neck of Stiles’ tee with his nose to access more skin.

“I just enjoy being next to you.”

“Yeah same, obviously, but I was thinking mutual orgasms might have been nice too.”

Derek smiled, face hidden against Stiles’ shoulder blade.

“There’s still time.” 

Derek pushed himself up on his elbow, gently pulling on Stiles’ shoulder and rolling him into his back. Stiles blinked up at him, still a little sleepy-eyed but smiling, and Derek hoped to got he never got sick of that.

Stiles reached up, stretching and groaning, unusually stiff from a night spent sleeping in the one position. He stretched his arms up over his head, and Derek couldn’t help but nose into his armpit, giving into his instinct just a little for once.

“Gross,” Stiles snorted, but affectionately cupped the back of Derek’s head, keeping him close. “Don’t I smell disgusting, though?”

“You smell like you,” Derek replied, nipping lightly at the skin where Stiles pectoral muscle met his armpit. “Like ocean. And like me.”

Stiles sighed happily, “Sounds good to me, man.”

Derek started to move further down Stiles’ body, drinking in all the pleased little noises Stiles would make whenever Derek did something that he particularly enjoyed. After discovering Stiles had never had a blow job before, Derek also discovered that Stiles had never been rimmed, and well, no time like the present. Derek took great pleasure in parting Stiles’ legs and pressing his knees back towards his chest, and just _going to town_.

Stiles had been very vocal about enjoying their sex before, but apparently Derek’s tongue in his ass was a whole other experience, shocking Stiles into silence, only broken by short little gasps accompanied with an encouraging hand against the back of Derek’s skull.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, loud in the quiet of the room, the heel of his foot coming down against Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s lips curled at the corners, and he dragged his tongue up slowly over Stiles’ perineum, nosing gently at his balls. Stiles pushed his head and shoulders back into the pillows, his legs falling wider. Derek continued to eat him out slow and thorough, long enough that his jaw began to ache, long enough that the sweat began to bead along Stiles’ sternum and collarbones, a damp sheen across his forehead and upper lip.

Every so often Stiles’ hand would twitch, like he wanted to touch himself, and Derek would lift his hand to brush his knuckles along the back of Stiles’thighs, to feel his frustrated whine, the flutter of his hole against Derek’s mouth when he shuddered. He didn’t touch himself, but he shook with the effort of restraint.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Stiles gasped suddenly, laughing, “You bastard.”

“What?” Derek smiled as Stiles pressed harder against his mouth, writhing, “I do something wrong?”

“No. Well, yes,” Stiles said, blinking away the sweat in his eyes. He tried to sit up, hips lifting off the bed with Derek in tow, and his red, wet cock resting against his belly, “You’re gonna make me come first. Again.”

“Oh my god,” Derek rolled his eyes, planting a palm on Stiles’ warm, flushed chest, and pushing him back down. “Shut up.”

Stiles collapsed back with a grunt. “You’re too good to me,” He sighed, voice sounding thick — emotion and arousal — as his eyes fell shut, “Not just the sex. You’re always too good. So good. Feels so good, Derek, don’t—”

Derek sloppily sucked one of Stiles’ balls into his mouth, dropping his hand to press his fingers against Stiles’ hole. Stiles cried out, hips rolling into the sensation. Derek’s finger slid in easy, and he crooked it gently inside against the front wall to find that sweetspot, to finish him off.

Stiles’ hands flailed out to the edge of the bed, grabbing at the sheets, pulling them right up off the mattress as he came, back arching. This time it wasn’t the quiet, breathy moan he made before; this time he was loud. Derek’s name, choked out, _fuck—oh fuck!_ and a strangled moan when he pushed his fist into his mouth. Derek was so happy the house was empty. He didn’t ever want anyone but him to hear that sound.

Derek groaned as he pulled back, still slowly pressing his finger in and out of Stiles’ ass, and began to make his way back up Stiles’ body. 

There was pre come puddled below Stiles’ navel, tacky and drying in the dark hair there, and Derek hummed happily, running his tongue over it. He’d never seen anyone who got as wet before coming as Stiles did, and couldn’t help wonder if it was just Stiles, or what Derek did to him. As for the actual come, well, most of it was on Stiles’ chin/chest. Stiles was flat on his back again, panting, flushed all the way down his chest and darkly in his cheeks.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed, as Derek pulled his finger out, gently rubbed it against the pucker. He was still so wet, so loose, Derek wondered if he could just push in.

Stiles grinned, lifting a limp hand to cradle Derek’s nape, pull him down for a kiss. He didn’t seem to mind, despite where Derek’s mouth had just been.

“Does it always feel— Is it always like that?” he asked, hoarsely, nose bumping Derek’s as he caught his breath. Derek shrugged a shoulder.

“If you want it to be.”

Stiles’ eyes softened, lips pouting a little when he kissed Derek again, brow creased. He hooked his calf over Derek’s thigh, his free hand lamely tugging at the waist of Derek’s briefs. He’d been hard ever since he started going down on Stiles’, but now he was suddenly more aware of it. Stiles’ hand framed the shape of his cock over the cotton of his underwear.

“Do you wanna put it in?” he asked, voice gone a little breathy again, and Derek almost collapsed on top of him.

“Do I want to…”

“You want to fuck me,” Stiles said, not a question this time but still gently phrased, as he hooked his finger into the elastic waist of Derek’s briefs, started to tug them down.

“But you just—”

“And now I want you to.”

“Stiles,” Derek breathed, as Stiles curled his fingers around Derek’s cock, just a little too dry, but still too good for Derek to complain.

“Just the tip,” Stiles murmured, with a real shit eating grin, eyes shining when helifted his head to kiss Derek deeply, filthily, “Just put it in.”

“Stop saying ‘put it in’,” Derek groaned, screwing his eyes shut. He felt Stiles’ lips against his ear.

“But I want you to,” he murmured, “Just let me get the lube.”

Derek’s shoulders sagged; his only real argument, which had only vaguely formed in his mind, was gone out the window. Stiles stopped, the clutch of his hand suddenly gone, a slight sting of anxiety in his scent, and Derek opened his eyes again to find Stiles watching him with a look of worry.

“Unless you really don’t want to.”

Derek swallowed thickly. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ want to— it was that maybe he wanted to too much, and maybe he was transferring that onto Stiles, inadvertently making him do something that he didn’t want to do.

“You’re not a virgin, obviously,” Derek said, softly, “I know that. But I also know there’s a lot of things you haven’t done. I want you to be sure you’re ready for those things, that you really want them. There’s a big difference between what we _just_ did, and what you’re _talking about_ doing.”

Stiles looked at him, eyes big and genuine, and Derek could _literally_ feel his anxiety melting away as his lips tilted into a smile.

“Dude, not to be indelicate, but you just had your tongue in my ass and now you’re worried I don’t want your dick in it too?”

Derek laughed, sitting back on his heels and covering his face with both hands. When he looked at Stiles again, he was smiling, hair a mess, still flushed and shining, still beautiful as always.

“Derek, I meant it last night when I said I love you. That means I trust you. It means I want to do _everything_ with you.”

“It does?” Derek smiled. Stiles put his hands on Derek’s shoulders. He was still a little shaky, still recovering from his orgasm, but he pushed Derek onto his back and straddled him, grinning. Stiles’ hands were large, but still delicate looking, when they smoothed over Derek’s chest hair.

“Yeah. Being with you feels like standing on the shore, looking out.”

Derek tilted his head curiously. It felt like this moment was important, that this was about more than just sex.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like, you’re the ocean, and I’m the sky. No matter how hard I look out at that horizon, I don’t see an end. It just keeps going, and we always meet in the middle.”

Derek felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He couldn’t believe that Stiles had just put everything Derek had been feeling about them into such simple, accurate terms.

“How do you go from ‘just the tip’ to _that_ in like twelve seconds?” he choked out, and Stiles fell forward laughing, shoulders shaking, his forehead pressed to Derek’s sternum. Derek huffed out a laugh too, curling up to press a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head.

They lay like that for a while, Stiles’ head tucked in under Derek’s chin, cheek on his chest and Derek’s hand rubbing his back. Eventually, Stiles lifted his head, and he was smiling, all soft edges again when he pressed their mouths together.

“I don’t want to go back,” he said against Derek’s lips, and Derek knew exactly what he meant. Time stood still here at the beach house, it felt like another world — hell, another _universe_. Leaving meant going back to Beacon Hills, going back to every day life, not waking up beside Stiles every morning, getting ready for college in the Fall.

Derek heard the noise of the other six returning to the house — apparently they’d been down the beach — and he sighed, knowing their last moments of true privacy were up. One look at Stiles told Derek he knew it too. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Me neither,” Derek sighed, gently pressing his mouth to Stiles’ forehead. “Let’s go.”

/ / /

Stiles let Scott drive the Jeep back to Beacon Hills that evening, Kira in the passenger seat. Usually he didn’t like to sit in the back, found it too cramped. With Derek holding his hand all the way back, he didn’t really mind all that much.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**[ 1 9 9 4 // J u n e ]**

Even in the back room, Claudia could hear the chatter of the guests filling the church, echoing off the cavernous ceiling. She hadn’t wanted a fuss. Her parents had insisted on the church, and John mostly just agreed to giving them what they wanted. Claudia made it clear she didn’t care, as long as they both had rings on their fingers at the end of the day.

Her father was just going out for some air before he gave her away, when there was a soft knock on the door. Zbigniew shot Claudia a confused look.

“ _Are you expecting anyone?”_ he asked her, and Claudia shook her head, curious. Her father opened the door very slightly, and peeked out the crack. His expression brightened suddenly.

“Ah, you, mind her for a few minutes, will you?” he asked, cheerily, and Claudia was suddenly very confused as to who was waiting for her. When Talia walked in, smiling softly, young Laura standing dutifully at her side, Claudia felt a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying melt away.

He father slipped out the door, and Talia stepped inside with Laura, gently closing the door behind her. For a few moments, they both stood there in silence.

“You look beautiful, Pods.”

Claudia felt a lump in her throat. Soon she wouldn’t _be_ Claudia Podolzky anymore. She’d be Claudia Stilinski. It felt more significant than just changing her name on paper, and putting a ring on her finger.

“Thank you,” she croaked, idly smoothing out her skirt. “I didn’t think you would come.”

“I can’t stay long,” Talia said, apologetically, and it hurt how stilted such a simple conversation felt between them. “I just came to see you.”

Talia reached out, and Claudia slipped her hands into Talia’s, squeezing tightly.

“How is everyone? Derek? The baby?”

“Cora,” Talia said, smiling fondly.

“Laura and Cora, huh,” Claudia shot a sidelong glance at Laura, who rolled her eyes spectacularly, “You should start thinking up names that rhyme with Derek for the next one.”

Talia laughed, shaking her head, “I think three is quite enough.”

“I think _one_ is enough,” Claudia scoffed. After many years at the practically overrun Hale house, Claudia thought dealing with just one baby might be enough for her.

Talia’s face took on that soft, fond smile again, and she dropped Claudia’s hand to move Laura back behind her.

“Stay back sweetie,” she murmured to her daughter, opening up her handbag. Claudia, bewildered as Talia pulled on a pair of delicate white gloves. “I have a gift for you.”

Very carefully, Talia held out a small blue flower, very tiny and very beautiful.

“It’s a kind of wolfsbane,” Talia explained. “We present it as a sign of celebration and trust… to the human members of pack.”

Claudia bit down on her lip, suddenly aware of how badly she was shaking, as she reached out to take the tiny flower. She couldn’t quite steady her hand, so instead she bowed her head, for Talia to place it in her hair.

“I don’t know if you stick to the tradition,” Talia said, her voice suddenly thick and catching, “But I thought it could be your something blue.”

Claudia laughed, the sound more wet than she would have liked.

“I’m gonna ruin my makeup, Tal,” she cried, blinking furiously. Talia gently tilted her face up again, removing her gloves and instead taking a tissue from her purse. Claudia closed her eyes, and let Talia gently dab away the tears that had sprung up, and fix her makeup.

“You look lovely,” Talia assured her, and Claudia threw herself forward, throwing her arms around Talia’s shoulders, holding her arm out for Laura to join the hug too. They stayed like that until Claudia’s father came back, letting her know it was time to go.

“I knew, the very first time I met you,” Talia said, “That you and John were made for each other. You had trouble written all over you. The kind he could never resist.”

Claudia squeezed her hand as she pulled away, letting her father lead her towards the church doors.

The organ played, and she walked down the aisle. Claudia knew a lot of planning had gone into the decor of the inside of the church, the flowers, the decoration on the pews. Her mother had worked so hard on it, but Claudia couldn’t see any of it, her tunnel vision aimed right at John, standing so handsomely at the alter, waiting for her.

The ceremony passed by in a blur, it was only as she said ‘I do’ that the last minute panic set in. John slid the ring on her finger and she gasped.

“You still like me, right?” she whispered, frantically.

John was still laughing when the priest announced that he could kiss her now, and Claudia laughed too, eyes teary for a completely different, better reason when he cradled her face in his hands, and kissed his wife for the first time.

/ / /

**[ A u g u s t // 2 0 1 3 ]**

Stiles woke earlier than he usually would have, all rolled up in his sheets, his windows wide open. He didn't move, he just sighed and lay on his side for a little while, physically tired, emotionally tired. He could hear trees rustling, cars passing, smell a storm rolling in all damp and sweet, and he missed the sound of the ocean.

Eventually he noticed that the little message light on the side of his phone was flashing, and he managed to free his arms from the sheets to grab it and pull it back under, burrowing down under the covers again. The first text was from Scott — ‘ _Call me if you wanna hang later’_ with a strange assortment of heart and animal emojis afterwards — followed by three from Kira composed _entirely_ of emojis but just as meaningful. He didn’t reply to any of them, but smiled anyway, setting the phone back on the table.

Soon after he heard his dad beginning to make noise, getting ready for work. There was a soft knock on the door, and Stiles poked his head out to see his dad peeking in, a soft look on his face.

“Hey kiddo. All ok?”

“Ten four,” Stiles replied. “You going to work?”

“Yeah, I’m going to stop by the cemetery on the way.”

The never go together anymore. Not since the first year, when John hadn’t wanted to stay and Stiles hadn’t wanted to leave. He’d screamed the car down all the way home. And sure, things would be different now. Stiles didn’t need his dad to drive him home, knew how to better voice his feelings than through tantrums, but it was almost tradition now. A private moment on a special, tragic day.

It was his mothers birthday.

Stiles rubbed the thin sheets between his thumb and forefinger, foot swishing self-soothingly against the mattress.

“Okay,” he said softly. His father looked torn for a moment, and then pushed the door wider, coming in to sit down at the edge of the mattress. He offered his coffee to Stiles — two thirds of it left, still hot. Stiles took it hesitantly. He didn’t drink coffee much, it messed with his Adderall. But that was something he’d been taking less and less as of recent times.

“Got any plans for today?” his dad asked, jerking his thumb in the vague direction of the guest room, or Malia’s room as it was now called. She would probably sleep until nearly noon, as Stiles would have if he hadn't been so restless the night before.

Stiles shrugged and shook his head, “I think Malia has a thing with Lydia. They got really close when we went to the beach. Funny what sharing a bed does.”

“A _thing_ with Lydia,” his dad repeated, deadpan, “Like a romantic thing?”

“Oh my god, what, _no_ ,” Stiles spluttered, “A _shopping_ thing, jeez dad, Malia and Lydia aren’t… I mean they’re not…”

Well, _that_ was something he wouldn’t stop thinking about any time soon.

“It’s way too early for this,” Stiles said, a little dazed as his father took the coffee mug from him and set it on the bedside table.

“Girls aside, do _you_ have any plans for today?”

Stiles shrugged again, and then hugged his shoulders, “Breakfast. Visiting mom. Might see some people later.”

“Scott?”

“Probably.”

“…Derek?”

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure how well he was schooling his expression, going for nonchalant but probably missing the mark by lightyears. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if maybe his dad could read minds.

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging weakly. “I don’t know. It would be very serendipitous if I did.”

He hadn’t told his dad yet, but he wasn’t lying. He really wasn’t planning on calling Derek if he could help it.

His dad snorted, smiling good-naturedly. “Alright kid. I gotta go to work. Have a good day okay?”

“I will if you will,” Stiles replied, already pulling the covers over his head again. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

/ / /

It was a half hour later when Malia barged into the room, wrapped in her duvet like a little coyote burrito. _A coyotito,_ Stiles thought, in an effort to cheer himself up (which really only lead to him remembering how he nearly failed Spanish). Without saying a word, she crawled up on top of the covers next to him, spooning up behind him until he held out his hand for her to hold.

“You’re doing that scrunchy thing you do with your face,” she said, muffled into his shoulder, “When you’re sad, and you’re trying to pretend you’re not.”

Stiles swallowed down the lump in his throat, tried to turn his face away into the pillows.

“Do you remember what you said to me on Ella’s birthday?” Malia asked, “You told me that it was okay to be sad, and to mourn, that time heals all wounds but sometimes old wounds still hurt when it rains or when it’s cold.”

Stiles choked out a laugh, but it was short and watery. “I’m so glad we stayed friends.”

Later, after Stiles had showered and inhaled a bowl of cereal, he grabbed his rucksack and his keys, shouted a goodbye up the stairs to Malia who had fallen asleep again in his bed, and walked out the front door.

Derek’s Toyota was pulling into the driveway, and Stiles froze mid-step, wondering if Malia had called him. Although, Derek didn’t seem to be acting any different when he got out of the driver’s seat, and Stiles knew that Derek was transparent as hell. _So maybe serendipity_ is _a thing,_ he thought, followed by a _no, he’s your_ boyfriend _dumbass. He probably just wants to see you_.

“Hey. Are you heading out?” Derek asked, greeting Stiles with a quick kiss and a brush of his hand over the back of his neck (Stiles was still surprised by how sickeningly cute they were; he’d never really thought beyond the blistering hotness of all the messing around, but he welcomed it with open arms). Then Derek’s brow furrowed a little, and Stiles could tell he was picking up on the bad vibes.

“Yeah, cemetery,” Stiles said, barely a two word explanation enough for Derek, whose brow smoothed out, face falling into a neutral expression. He nodded curtly, hand reaching out to brush his fingertips against Stiles’ wrist.

“You want me to stick around or would you rather I got lost?” Derek asked, lips quirking up at the end, enough to make Stiles smile in return. After a few moments of consideration, he held out his keys.

“You could drive me if you want. Stop at the florist on the way to pick up my flowers.”

Derek nodded seriously. “I can do that.”

Stiles grinned genuinely for the first time that morning, putting the keys into Derek’s hand, brushing his hands over Derek’s biceps and pressing another soft kiss to his mouth.

Derek looked strange behind the wheel of the Jeep, broad and muscular in the simplistic interior. He wasn’t as big as he used to be, more slender than his alpha days, but Stiles had a feeling he would never match Derek’s level of bulk. Admittedly, he kind of liked it that way. Derek felt like safety, like a rock he could hold fast to.

“This was my mom’s Jeep,” Stiles said, once they were out on the road. “Got it for her sixteenth birthday, on this very day, twenty-seven years ago.”

Derek glanced sideways at Stiles, “Really? How _old_ is this Jeep?”

“About thirty-three years.”

“Going strong.”

“Jeeps are built to last, my friend,” Stiles said, sagely. “I mean, think of all the shit Roscoe endured these last couple of years. Drove through a wall and into a Kanima. Crashed into a tree. Drove all the way to freaking Mexico through backroads and roadless desert and mountains to avoid customs.”

“Roscoe,” Derek said, apparently stuck on that one detail.

“Mom named him.”

“Aren’t most cars girls?”

“That’s sexist.”

“No it’s not,” Derek snorted, “We name ships after women because they endure. Forged of iron, made of steel, tough as nails. Nothing sexist about it.”

Stiles grinned, twisting in his seat.

“I like you,” he said.

“Oh no,” Derek replied, flatly. “However will I cope.”

Stiles was still smiling even as they pulled into the parking lot of the cemetery. He held his flowers in one hand, and swung the door of the Jeep open with the other, flinging himself out onto the tarmac. 

When he noticed Derek wasn’t budging, he walked around and knocked on the window.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked, through the glass. Stiles knew that this was where Derek’s family were buried after the fire, and where Laura was later buried too. He wasn’t sure if Derek was trying to give him privacy, or just straight up didn’t want to come in.

“I thought you’d want to be alone,” Derek said, opening the door.

Stiles shrugged, “If it was anyone else, yeah. But now there’s stuff I know about her that connects her to you, and you to me, and I want you to come with me.”

The grass in the cemetery was that autumn shade of hazel, almost crunchy underfoot from lack of rain, although Stiles could feel that the weather would soon change. They didn’t talk as they walked, Derek following Stiles through the plots. He knew the grounds like the back of his hand, although it wasn’t something he would ever brag about.

Eventually he reached the headstone, stopping a few feet away. _Claudia Stilinski_ , it read, and in smaller script beneath ( _née Podolzky). August 1st 1970 - October 10th 2004._

“Is that a _cherry bomb_?” Derek asked suddenly, and Stiles smiled, squinting. Tucked away in the bottom right corner, there was indeed a cherry bomb.

“My dad leaves one whenever he visits,” Stiles explained. “He would never tell me why when I was younger, but they met when she was just a kid, and got dragged into the station for getting in trouble. He thought I would get ideas if he told me.”

“Well, you would,” Derek replied.

“True,” Stiles agreed, and moved to kneel down in front of the grave, and set his flowers into the holder. When he turned back, Derek was far back, as if he was giving Stiles the illusion of privacy. Stiles turned back to the headstone, placing his hand against it.

“When I was a kid, I thought you knew everything,” he said softly, tracing the engraved _C_ in _Claudia_ , “You knew that my new teeth would come in when my baby ones fell out. _Man_ , that whole concept scared me. And you knew when I was staying up reading comics under the sheets, without even opening the door. You knew I got upset easily because I couldn’t concentrate, and you knew why, and you knew how to fix it without the meds. You knew I hated them.”

He dropped his hands into his lap, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. He wasn’t sure when his vision had become so blurry.

“You did. You knew _everything_.”

Another glance at Derek, who was pointedly sitting on a bench, not looking at Stiles.

“Did you know about him?” he asked voice barely a whisper, “Did you know we— that he would make me so happy?”

Stiles pressed his hands into the grass, breathed deeply, felt the tears drip down his face and hastily wiped them away.

“Happy birthday,” he croaked. “I love you. I miss you.”

It was only a few moments later when he felt Derek’s hand on his shoulder, sure and comforting. Gingerly, Stiles got to his feet, and turned to attempt a smile at Derek.

“You’ve got dirt on your cheek,” Derek said, softly, thumb rubbing over Stiles’ cheekbone as he sniffled through a laugh, and then allowed himself to be pulled in for a hug. It was only a short visit, but it never got any easier.

Once Stiles had pulled himself together, Derek pointed out to the edge of the cemetery, to a plot at the treelike of the preserve beyond.

“That’s my family, over there,” he said, and Stiles could feel the tension is his shoulders without even having to touch him.

“Do you want to go over there?” Stiles asked, and Derek quickly shook his head. “Okay, then let’s go. Unless you want to say something to the birthday girl.”

Derek smiled as Stiles jerked his thumb towards his mother’s grave, shook his head softly.

“I wouldn’t be able to put it into words.”

Stiles grabbed his hand, squeezed it. “Try,” he said, simply.

Derek held his gaze for a long moment, before he glanced at the headstone, and nodded curtly. He moved past Stiles to stand in front of it, and Stiles took a step back, watching as Derek put his hand atop the headstone in respect, standing there for a long, quiet moment before he finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said, so softly that Stiles almost didn’t hear it, his heart skipping when he did.

Then Derek stepped away, clearing his throat. When he got to Stiles, he didn’t say a word, just leaned in to kiss him there and then, strong hands holding Stiles’ face while he reeled emotionally. 

When they got back to the Jeep, Stiles sat in the passenger seat for a moment, processing. Without really being able to control it, he suddenly began to laugh, soft and first but building into something deep and sincere. He just felt lighter. He really was _happy_.

“What?” Derek asked him, eyes narrowed, but smiling. Stiles sighed happy, rubbing his forehead.

“That was fucking cathartic, man. Can we get lunch? I want a burger.”

Derek laughed too. “Burgers it is.”

/ / /

**[ S e p t e m b e r // 1 9 9 4 ]**

After the wedding, it had been hard for John to get time off work. He’d been angling for a promotion, a raise in salary, so any Honeymoon or holiday had been postponed until mid July, almost a month after they had said their vows. Even then, they hadn't gone very far, just down to the coast to spend a long weekend at the beach.

In late September, Claudia found out she was eight weeks pregnant.

John discovered her clearing out one of the guest rooms upstairs, the bigger, brighter one with two windows. She was already pinning swatches to the wall.

“What— what are you doing?” he asked, laughing, stepping over a box. Unfortunately, this was also the room they had decided to pile all the unpacked boxes into when they had moved.

Claudia shrugged, hands on her hips. She couldn’t keep the smile off of her lips.

“I was thinking this is where we can put the crib.”

John’s eyebrows might as well have disappeared into his hairline he was so surprised, and it was clearly written on his face.

“Crib?”

“Well yeah. Where’s the baby gonna sleep?” She asked.

The was a beat of silence where John didn’t react at all, before suddenly a grin spread across his face. He practically vaulted over the last few boxes to get to her, scooping her up and lifting her over this shoulder, spinning as she screamed.

“Are you kidding?” He laughed, obviously overjoyed.

“If by ‘kidding’ you mean ‘pregnant’, then yes,” Claudia laughed, “Put me down, _caveman_.”

John set her down on her feet, panting a little, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“When? How long?”

“Well, the doc says I’m coming up on eight weeks,” she said, a little breathless, holding up eight fingers, which John then grabbed in his own hands. “So, I’m guessing Honeymoon?”

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“Of course,” Claudia beamed, “I’ve wanted this for years. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispers. “And we’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby,” Claudia echoed, barely managing to get the sentence out before John was kissing her.

/ / /

**[ A u g u s t // 2 0 1 3 ]**

John stood in front of the window in his son’s bedroom, a soft smile on his face, picture in his hand. His wife, painting the walls blue, pregnant, paint smudged over her cheek. She was smiling, looking away like she was embarrassed to have her picture taken.

It had started raining suddenly in the last half hour, and when John peered out the window he could see his son running in the street, being chased by Derek Hale. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

He looked down at the photo in his hand, and felt his heart swell.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then tucked her back into his wallet, where he carried her always.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**[ A u g u s t // 2 0 1 3 ]**

After shooting a text to Scott and Kira to see if they wanted to have lunch, Stiles and Derek headed to Patsy’s diner in town. Best burgers in all of Beacon County, Stiles promised, grinning at Derek as his stomach audibly grumbled. Stiles guess was that Derek had originally stopped by the house to see if Stiles wanted breakfast, and he smiled at the thought.

Stiles was, understandably, immediately swathed in Scott and Kira’s arms as they hugged him tightly as soon as he arrived at the diner, before they moved on to Derek. Eventually the four of them settles into a booth, ordering food and talking about their day so far. Mostly, Scott talked about their morning at the clinic, and Kira babbled on about a rescued kitten she had become enamoured with. 

(Stiles would bet good money that Scott would have adopted it for her by the end of the month.)

They talked late into the evening, until Patsy herself came out of the kitchens to shoo them away. It’d begun to rain in the last hour while they’d been talking, and at the door, Kira — ever prepared — pulled a fold-up umbrella out of her bag, extending it as she and Scott walked out to her car.

Stiles stayed close to Derek’s side under the awning at the store front. He’d hoped the rain would pass long enough for them to get to the Jeep and maybe home again, but there were grey skies as far as he could see.

“You wanna run for it?” Derek asked, and they both eyed the Jeep parked at the end of the street, across the road.

“Suppose we better,” he said, wishing he hadn’t been fooled by the August weather and had at least brought a hoodie with him. Derek opened his jacket, holding one side of it up over Stiles’ head, at least partially covering him.

“Don’t trip up.”

“You’re so sweet,” Stiles cooed, pouring as much sarcasm as he could into just three words. It made Derek smile though, and that was what mattered. Seconds later they were both sprinting through the rain to get to the Jeep, Stiles tucking himself under Derek’s arm, clinging to his shirt as they ran.

Stiles flung himself hard into the driver’s seat, panting as Derek climbed in around the passenger side, looking as drenched as Stiles felt. In the space of maybe twenty seconds of running, Stiles’ hair had become plastered to his forehead. If he hadn’t already thought he needed a haircut, the way his hair was dripping into his mouth definitely supported the idea. Derek however, looked just as model-esque as he always did, sweeping his hand back through his soaked hair, slicking it back.

“Is there heat in this thing?” Derek asked softly, and Stiles shook his head. “Then start driving, let’s get you home.”

Stiles nodded, getting droplets of water everywhere as he slid the key into the ignition and started up. In the midst of a crisis, he would gladly walk through the rain and not care about the consequences, mind too preoccupied. Today he was just wet and cold and pissed off.

They were comfortably quiet on the drive to Stiles’ house. Every so often Derek would reach out with an impossibly warm hand to catch Stiles’ fingers in his palm, or to touch his neck. Stiles knew firsthand just how warm Derek was, but was still surprised that he could sustain that heat while sitting in damp clothes.

He could see from the corner of his eye that Derek was watching him unashamedly, expression neutral even as beads of water slid down his face from his hair. That alone was enough to warm Stiles, inside at least. When they pulled into the driveway it was already dark. The curtains were drawn inside the house, and Stiles couldn’t tell if the lights were on or off, but he assumed his dad was in bed already, knowing he had a very early shift.

“I feel very gross, I never got the appeal of kissing in the rain.” Stiles said, turning the engine off, but staying put. Derek only moved to unbuckle his belt, twisting to face Stiles better.

“I could show you.”

“Goddamn that’s cheesy,” Stiles laughed, wiping his face with his sleeve, despite how wet it was. “No thanks, big guy. Let’s just go in and get changed.”

“We’re already wet,” Derek said, visibly trying not to laugh at the way Stiles wiggled his eyebrows in suggestion. “C’mon.”

“I’m going inside, you romantic _idiot_ ,” he said, opening his door, but quick as a flash, Derek was jumping out too, running around Stiles’ side of the Jeep in the pouring rain.

“I’m serious. C’mon.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles ducked beneath his arm, weaving, “You’re insane.”

“I know you are but what am I?”

“A giant hairy child, apparently,” Stiles laughed, running around the other side of the Jeep, away from Derek. The rain wasn’t all that cold, he realised, but maybe that was just because his body temperature was dropping. Derek grinned, running his hands over the body of the Jeep as he made his way around, his fingers momentarily leaving tracks in the rain.

“We’re already standing here, all you have to do is kiss me.”

Stiles laughed again, feeling his defences weakening with every passing second. He looked around, fully aware of the fact that he had some very nosy neighbours, but also aware of how badly he really did want to kiss Derek right now, wanted to thank him for turning such a historically sad day for him into something so enjoyable.

“Somewhere, somehow, Nicholas Sparks has an itch he can’t scratch,” Stiles said, “I mean this is so— it’s kissing in the rain, Derek, it’s practically a trademark.”

“Actually, shut up,” Derek said, though his tone was light and playful, a sly little grin pulling at his upper lip, the glint of white canines shining in the dark. He still felt so large, radiating heat as he closed in on Stiles, pushing him up against the side of the Jeep before kissing him, slow and soft, building, harder, deeper, Stiles’ lips stinging, mouth open, wanting— 

It didn’t feel so cliché after that.

/ / /

When Stiles finally got through the front door, he was glad it was there just to hold him up. His mouth felt tender, he felt hot and achy under his skin, his hands were shaking knowing Derek was just on the other side of the door.

As they were finally making their way into the house, Derek’s phone had started ringing, a number he apparently didn’t recognise flashing up on the screen. He’d kissed Stiles again, briefly, telling him to go inside, that he’d just be a few minutes, before answering the phone with a surly ‘Yes?’

Stiles wondered if he could convince Derek to stay the night with him tonight, having missed the hot, solid feel of him, missing a body to curl up too.

“Stiles, you’re dripping on the mat. Could you please stare into space elsewhere?” Stiles suddenly realised his father was sitting at the kitchen table, and his foot slid on the tile as he jumped in shock, almost braining himself on the door.

“Dad! You’re up late. You’re awake. I mean. Hi.” he blurted, feeling his cheeks heating up. His joy quickly overrode his embarrassment though, and he sank back against the door again, happy. “Hey.”

“I take it from that stupid look on your face that your date went well?”

Stiles, immediately flustered, flapped his arm.

“Date. Date? No, I was just hanging out with Scott, remember? Scott, and Kira… and Derek. Derek, who is… outside.” He finished, lamely, realising what a thin argument he was presenting. “Not a date.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t just spend five minutes macking on Hale in the front drive.”

“Um.”

“Stiles. C’mon now. I didn’t get this sheriff’s badge for my good looks.”

Stiles found it hard to pin his father’s tone of voice. It sounded vaguely disappointed, but not the kind of disappointment Stiles had expected from him. It hit him like a brick, and Stiles barely kept his gasp down. His dad was disappointed in him — not for dating Derek, but for not _telling him_ about it.

“You don’t,” Stiles swallowed thickly, hands wringing the bottom of his soaking sweater, adding a steady trickle of water to the puddle already forming at his feet, “You don’t think he’s… he’s too old for me?”

The words were a struggle to get out; it was something Stiles often thought about. How much older Derek was, how much more he’d experienced, how much of a kid Stiles still was in comparison. Stiles knew he and Derek were compatible in many ways, but part of him still worried that the incompatible parts would someday outweigh that.

“You don’t think— he’s too mature for me? That I’m just a kid?”

Suddenly, his dad’s face softened, and he closed the file he had open on the table in front of him, and made his way towards where Stiles stood. Stiles smiled, comforted by the strong hand against his shoulder, reassuring.

“Stiles. If you’re anything like your mother, and I _know_ you are, I think you’re going to be the light of his life.”

The sentiment made his stomach bottom out, and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. Tears sprung to his eyes, but he held them back, nodding eagerly and blinking hard, letting his dad hug him despite how soaked he was.

“Thanks dad,” he whispered, as his father stepped back, hands in his pockets. It was then that he felt the doorknob nudge against his back, and he stepped out of the way for a very confused Derek, peering at him from around the door.

“You’re still down here? Stiles you’ll freeze, what are you doin— oh,” Derek fell silent mid sentence as he finally spotted Stiles’ dad, standing a few feet away at the bottom of the stairs. “Sheriff,” he said, standing up straight.

Stiles’ dad laughed, shoulders bobbing in a way that reminded Stiles of himself, and made him smile.

“I think you can start calling me John now, Derek,” he said, smiling as he began to walk up the stairs, “Stiles, make sure you get Derek a hot drink.”

“Only if you never say ‘macking on Hale’ ever again,” Stiles replied, immensely enjoying Derek’s pinched expression. “Ever. Again.”

“Deal,” his dad shouted in reply, and soon after Stiles heard the click of his bedroom door closing.

“What the hell was that?” Derek whispered.

Stiles grinned delightedly. “Pretty much a blessing.”

/ / /

Luckily, Derek had been keeping clothes at Stiles’s place since long before they got together, and had a pair of comfortable sweatpants to change into after Stiles had dragged him into the shower (which was really more mutual hand jobs than showering, but Derek literally could not complain).

They settled down onto the couch together in the living room as Stiles browsed through Netflix for a movie to watch. He could tell that Stiles finally felt more settled as the day drew to a close, and Derek would do whatever he could to protect that.

He didn’t have to tell him about the phone call just yet. It could wait.

/ / /

**[ A p r i l // 1 9 9 5 ]**

Claudia would be willing to admit that the bigger she got, the more cautious she became, so when she started feeling strange twinges of pain on Saturday morning as she pottered around the house, it didn’t take long for her to figure out what was happening.

“ _John_ ,” she whispered, sitting down heavily at the edge of the bed, cradling her very pregnant belly, “ _Wake up_.” 

John grumbled into the pillow, turning his face away and murmuring something Claudia couldn’t quite catch. He’d only gotten home a few hours beforehand from a long shift, and Claudia hated to wake him so soon, but—

“John, hey c’mon, I think I’m having contractions.”

“Huh?” John lifted his head, grimacing, “It’s too early.”

“Not really,” Claudia sighed, gently shaking his arm. However, her voice took on a slightly sarcastic edge as she began to stand again, pushing herself up off the bed. “I could call a taxi if you’d rather.”

“I’m up,” John groaned, sitting up with difficulty. “Just let me get some pants.”

By the time they arrived at the hospital, the weight of the situation had apparently finally caught up with John, who was obviously panicking.

“There’s a tiny person coming out of you and they can’t get you a goddamn wheelchair?”

“John—”

“ _My_ tiny person.”

“Breathe, okay? My waters haven’t even broken. It’s all okay.”

John was already gone looking for the wheelchair.

It was only fifteen minutes later when Claudia was lying on an examination table, that she began to panic too.

“I haven’t felt anything in a while,” she told the nurse, “Is that— should that worry me?”

“Let’s just see,” the nurse replied softly, wheeling over the ultrasound machine. “There’s been no amniotic fluid yet, you may just be in false labour.”

“Is that… is that possible?” John asked, squeezing Claudia’s hand in his, from his seat next to her bed. The nurse was quiet, but relaxed as she readied the machine, smoothing the wand over Claudia’s belly. After a few moments, the reassuring _whoosh-whoosh_ of a heartbeat filled the room, steady and regular.

“The baby seems perfectly fine, no signs of distress.”

John sighed in relief, head dipping as he lifted Claudia’s hand to his mouth to kiss it. Claudia glared pointedly at her bump.

“What the hell, dude?”

“Doctor Reyes will be down to see you soon, just for a small chat and to explain what’s happening now,” the nurse explained, before cleaning up the equipment, scribbling something down on a chart, before she slipped out of the room. Only moments later, Dr. Reyes entered, wearing a soft smile on her pretty face, her blonde hair piled up atop her head, white lab coat barely disguising a bump just a few months smaller than Claudia’s.

“The Stilinskis,” she smiled, a hand on her stomach, “Good to see you. A little early, isn’t it?”

“Just a little,” Claudia smiled, “You’re looking lovely.”

Dr. Reyes winked at her, lips twitching as she picked up the chart from the end of the bed.

“We call this instance ‘Braxton Hicks contractions’” she explained, “Intermittent weak contractions of the uterus occurring during pregnancy.”

Claudia winced, “You mean the actual contractions before the birth will be stronger than that?” 

Dr. Reyes smiled sympathetically, nodding her head.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Damn.”

“I hope you guys are prepared,” Dr. Reyes teased, and Claudia stared at her in disbelief, until the doctor explained, “It’s April Fool’s day. You seem to have a troublemaker on your hands.”

John groaned loudly beside her.

“Not another one.”

/ / /

They’d barely been home an hour when the doorbell rang. Claudia, with a bowl of dry Cheerios balanced on her belly, muted the TV.

“JOHN,” she shouted, knowing he would glare if she so much lifted anything but her hand to get the Cheerios to her mouth, he would grumble at her. All out of love and affection of course. The thought made her smile. “SOMEONE AT THE DOOR.”

“Got it,” John called from the hall, and Claudia heard the click of the latch and— silence. She cocked her head, frowning, straining to hear. She should have definitely been able to hear him chatting with whoever was at the door. But no, there was nothing.

“Everything okay?” she called, tentatively, despite remembering word for word the speech John had once gave her on intruders, and how to hide/get to safety. His job wasn’t always the safest one.

Thankfully, a moment later John poked his head into the living room where she was splayed across the couch. He looked tired, of course, his stance just a touch hesitant.

“You have some visitors,” he said, gently.

“Oh,” Claudia pushed herself into a sitting position, setting her bowl aside. “Well, okay.”

John stood back to let her visitors through, and if the pregnancy hormones and the stress of the morning hadn’t been enough, she nearly burst into tears at the sight of a smiling Talia, Derek at her side, as they came through the door.

Talia’s composed expression melted away into a bright smile, her eyes brimming as she sat down atop the coffee table, her knees brushing Claudia’s as she leaned in to hug her, as best as she could around her large belly.

“Look at you,” she whispered, as if her voice refused to leave her throat, too caught.

“I’m a _whale_ ,” Claudia cried, before bursting into tears, laughing all the while. It was then that she caught sight of Derek over Talia’s shoulder, looking stricken, and she choked out a laugh.

“Derek, I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. Derek’s eyes went wide, and he looked around, gaze settling somewhere behind Talia that Claudia couldn’t quite see. He reached over, and suddenly thrust the box of tissues from the coffee table at her, looking embarrassed. Claudia laughed again, sitting back to take a tissue, and handed one to Talia too.

She slowly sat back again, the strain too much on her back, and patted the seat of the couch next to her, inviting Derek over to sit. She counted back quickly in her head, figuring out that he was nine years old now, and quite a bit taller than the last time she had seen him, but still strikingly wide-eyed, and beautiful like his mother. He tentatively sat down next to her, folding entirely when she pulled him in for a hug.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered into his hair, and Talia held out her hand for Claudia to take.

“Alphas always know when their pack members are in distress.”

Claudia scoffed quietly, but good-naturedly, and rested her cheek against the top of Derek’s head.

“False labour,” she explained. “This morning.”

“I can hear it,” Derek said, softly, “The baby, I can hear it.”

Claudia looked down at him in surprise, which quickly shifted to affection.

“Him,” she said, “It’s a boy.”

Derek hummed thoughtfully, pressing his ear to the rounded swell, his eyes closing, face smoothing out. Claudia couldn’t help but notice how Talia watched him like a hawk.

“A boy,” she mused, never lifting her eyes from her own son. There was a tender smile on her face. “How wonderful.”

/ / /

When Claudia finally _did_ go into labour, oh, it was nothing like the false labour. This time she knew it was for real.

Over the past week Talia and Derek had almost been permanent fixtures in the house. Talia herself often had inexcusable business to attend to, but Derek flat out refused to leave except at night. Claudia didn’t mind. John still needed to work too, and it was nice to have Derek’s help and company around the house.

Occasionally Adam would come by with Laura and/or Cora, and while Claudia knew Laura loved her, and thought Cora was a very happy baby, neither of them seemed quite as enamoured with her or her unborn son as Derek was.

She wasn’t surprised that after the labour, which thankfully did not go on for hours like Claudia had dreaded it would, Talia and Derek were waiting outside.

John was still holding their yet unnamed baby boy, looking at him like there was nothing else in the world, when they stepped into the room. He didn’t even seem to notice the two extra bodies crowding up Claudia’s side of the bed.

“John, c’mon, give the kid some space,” Claudia yawned, “He’s just been all scrunched up in my uterus for nine months.”

“So he can deal with being scrunched up in his daddy’s arms for another ten minutes,” John argued back, and then looked vaguely embarrassed about it when he saw Talia holding back her laughter. He stood up, carefully passing the baby over to Claudia with a kiss to both their foreheads. “Actually, I might just go get some water for everyone.” he said, leaning in to peck Talia’s cheek in greeting, and ruffle Derek’s hair as he passed by, and slipped out into the hallway.

Talia sat down at the edge of the bed, peeking into the little blue blanket.

“Ah, he’s beautiful,” she said softly, and Claudia couldn’t help the rush of pride she felt. Something _she_ had made was beautiful. Not vandalism, not destruction. Beautiful. She hadn't realised how far she’d come until that very moment. “He has your eyes.”

“What?” Claudia frowned, squinting down at her little boy, “His eyes are blue, what are you talking about? That’s all John.”

“All babies have blue eyes,” Talia countered, “Regardless, they’ll change. His eyes are your shape anyway.”

Claudia shook her head, “I hope he’s handsome like his daddy.”

After a few moments, she finally lifted her head and asked, “Would you like to hold him?”

Talia opened her mouth to reply, but both of them were suddenly distracted by Derek, who was practically at the edge of his seat, respecting Claudia’s space but obviously desperate to see the baby.

“Or Derek,” she added, “Would you like to hold him?”

Derek nodded, his eyebrows drawn in worry, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get the opportunity. Talia gently took the baby in her arms, carefully walking around the bed to the other side where Derek sat, making sure he was sitting properly before giving him the baby.

She wasn’t entirely sure why, but seeing Derek holding her son so gently, looking at him with such awe, made her heart feel as though it was about to burst, her eyes welling up.

“Derek?” she called, softly. Derek looked up with a reproachful expression, obviously not ready to let go of the baby just yet. His hands, though still small as a nine-year-old’s should be, seemed huge in the grip of a newborn, whose fingers were tightly grasping his thumb.

“Yeah?” he replied, glancing between his mother and Claudia with that same wide eyed look he always seemed to have.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Claudia began, “You— you’ve been so helpful to me this last week, even sacrificing your schoolwork. But I’m so grateful you did, even though you didn’t have to.”

Derek looked at her, confused. “Of course I had to. He’s— I just wanted to.”

Talia took her polaroid camera from her handbag then, and Claudia groaned. She’d been good at avoiding the darn thing, only occasionally getting caught for a few of Talia’s pictures.

“C’mon, Tal, I look disgusting.”

“You’re glowing,” Talia replied, standing far back enough that she could get both Derek and the baby, and Claudia into the shot. “Good thing it’s nice and bright in here. The camera flash triggers our eyes.”

There was a click, and a loud whirring noise, and Talia set the camera down at the tray at the end of the bed.

“You wanna give the mini Stilinski back to Pods yet?”

“He’s sleeping,” Derek protested, very quietly.

Claudia smiled at the obvious tenderness, and came up with a solution.

“If your mom wheels the little cot over, you can put him down to sleep,” she said, and Talia nodded in agreement. Claudia trusted Derek to be careful with her son, laying him down in the blankets in the cot, tucking him in very carefully, soothing him when he began to fuss.

After a few minutes, Talia handed Derek a handful of coins from her purse.

“Why don’t you find out where John went, and maybe you can get something from the vending machine?”

“O-Okay,” Derek said, sounding a little put-out, but smiling and waving quickly at Claudia before he slipped out of the room. Claudia could tell Talia was waiting until she could hear his footsteps fade before she spoke again.

“We shouldn’t really be here, but when we got to the house this morning and read your note, Derek was distraught.”

“Is something wrong?” Claudia frowned, worrying at the blanket under her hands. She looked over to the cot next to the bed, where she could see her little boy sleeping.

“We’ve been lying low, trying to avoid the scrutiny of the Argents,” Talia sighed, looking into the distance, “You remember I met with their leader once? He’s not convinced that we’re so harmless, wants to move some family down here to keep an eye on us.”

Claudia’s heart sank, knowing what was coming before Talia even spoke a word.

“This is it, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice thick with disappointment. “For good.”

“For good,” Talia agreed, nodding. She sighed heavily, looking down at her lap. “I can’t put you in danger. They’re unpredictable people, and Gerard is not a good man despite what he says.”

“How do you know?”

Talia shook her head, “He has a granddaughter, not much younger than Cora, says he already has plans for her training. She’s barely a year old.”

Claudia closed her eyes, pinching at the bridge of her nose in the hope of relieving some of the tension, the tightness behind her eyes.

“Derek will be broken hearted that he won’t get to see the baby again,” she said, opening her eyes just in time to see Talia wiping hers. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pods,” she said, “Derek will— he’ll get over it. If it means you’re safe, the baby is safe, and he’s safe, then it’s a sacrifice worth making.”

_What sacrifice?_ Claudia wanted to ask, but felt that knowing would only make this departure worse for all of them. Instead, she swallowed down the rising wave of emotions (no mean feat with all those post-natal hormones floating around) and nodded affirmatively.

“I trust you’re doing the right thing for everyone, Talia.”

Talia, who was her Alpha. Her best friend, no matter what.

The door opened then, and John and Derek walked in— John with a pitcher of water, and Derek with several packets of peanut butter cups, one of which he nudged across the bed towards Claudia, before sitting down on the floor next to the bed. Talia didn’t say much after that, listening to Claudia and John bicker playfully over their indecision to name the baby after Claudia’s father.

(“I’m not sure I can name my child something I can’t even pronounce, Ceej.”

“Don’t be a baby, John, just give him a nickname.”

“I _will_ arrest you for child cruelty.”

“No you won’t.”)

Eventually, Talia picked up the camera and the polaroid she’d left at the end of the table earlier, waving it in the air for a moment before handing it over to Claudia. It really was a sweet picture, Derek holding the baby, and Claudia herself watching him with a smile on her face.

“Do you want to keep it?” Talia asked, putting the camera back in her bag. Claudia smiled, shaking her head as she handed the picture back. Whatever Derek’s sudden affinity with her son meant, Claudia didn’t want a reminder of it, what could have been.

“He might want it.” Claudia said, glancing over to where Derek was peering into the baby’s cot. Talia stared at her, as if she couldn’t believe how Claudia seemed to _understand_ without even really _knowing_. 

“We need to go now,” Talia said, to Derek, and to John and Claudia too. Derek nodded quickly, understanding, Claudia received a brief, tight hug from both Talia and Derek in turn. John stood to open the door, he too receiving a hug and congratulations from Talia, and a surly handshake from Derek.

As John went to close the door, Claudia saw Talia hand the polaroid to Derek, saw Derek’s shoulders sink. He glanced back over his shoulder, almost as if he wanted to go back. Then the door clicked shut, and Claudia lost sight of them all together.

John stood at the door for a moment, his hand resting against the jamb, his face tightand frowning.

“Why do I get the feeling that this was a goodbye?”

Claudia sighed, and reached out for the edge of the cot, to pull it closer.

“Because it was,” she said.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**[ S e p t e m b e r // 2 0 1 3 ]**

“You’ve been acting weird.”

Derek could tell by the way Stiles’ shoulders locked up that he hadn’t meant to say anything. That the words had just slipped out, in the regular Stiles fashion. But regardless, he was right. Even Derek knew he’d been acting weird, been berating himself about it. He was never very good at keeping secrets. 

But before he could even start to explain, Stiles was talking again.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he stalled for a moment, spreading his hands out over the top of the packing box in front of him, rubbing a finger along the line of tape sealing it. “I thought it would go away. I thought it was just a not-used-to-real-relationships thing.”

Derek’s heart sank; Stiles thought _he_ was the problem here, and that was a feeling Derek had never wanted to put on him. He put down his tape gun atop some more boxes, and Stiles rubbed nervously at his jaw, still staring down at the box.

“Stiles—”

“Is this about me leaving?” Stiles blurted, looking up again, “Is it about me living with Lydia?”

“Stiles, no, god,” Derek sighed, weaving through the boxes to get to him. “I told you the distance wouldn’t be a problem, and it _won’t_ , okay? And Lydia and I are friends now. I’m _glad_ you’re living with her. It means I can keep an eye on you,” he said, his voice taking on a playful edge towards the end, an attempt to cheer Stiles up.

Stiles’ gaze dropped away from him again, and he bumped his fist against the side of the cardboard box. Derek could see he was biting his lip in thought.

“So, then what’s going on with you?”

Derek sighed loudly, rubbing his palms over his face, even though it made his beard stick out funny in some points. Still, it made Stiles smile (although nervously), and reach out to smooth it down.

“You can tell me,” he urged, “That’s the whole point of the boyfriends thing.”

Derek shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Derek—” Stiles began, obviously frustrated, definitely irritated, and Derek covered his mouth with his hand, stopping him mid-speech.

“I’m telling you, I promise, just shut up for a sec.”

He dropped his hand away, and Stiles licked his lips, then waved his hand in a _continue, please_ gesture, a hint of that nervous smile still on his lips.

“About a month ago, I got a call from my landlord from when I lived in New York with Laura. See, when I came back to Beacon Hills, I didn’t plan to stay. Then I met you and Scott, and everything happened and I just… never went back. I’ve been keeping the apartment ever since.”

Stiles sat down heavily on the edge of his bed.

“Have you seriously been paying rent for a New York apartment you’re not even living in… for _two years_?”

“Well, there’s no power or water so it’s really just placeholder rent. But yeah.”

Stiles began to splutter.

“But— why— I mean, that’s— No _sane_ landlord would _ever_ agree to that, Derek.”

Derek winced, scratching at the back of his neck. He gently sat down next to Stiles, knocking their knees together affectionately.

“After Braeden and I went our separate ways, I’d planned to go back there, for good.”

“What?” 

Derek shrugged, “Scott had everything under control, you were with Malia, Peter in Eichen house, Cora in Columbia… there was nothing left for me here.”

Stiles made a fist with one hand, lazily punched the palm of the other, rubbing his knuckles the way he did when he was nervous.

“What are you thinking?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “Sounds like the beginning of a break-up speech.”

For Derek, _that_ assumption had come totally out of left field.

“Stiles, no—”

“You said the distance would be fine Derek. I thought you meant the distance between here and Palo Alto.”

“Stiles, I’m not moving to New York.”

“I don’t know, Derek, seems like a pretty great escape plan.”

“Why are you so convinced I want to get away from you?”

“Because that’s what you’ve been thinking, isn’t it?!” Stiles exploded, turning towards Derek and taking him completely by surprise. “That’s why you’ve been so quiet ever since you got that phone call, right?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with the place, not daydreaming about running off again.”

Stiles stood up again, shoving some boxes out of the way to make a path for him to pace, arms folded in a protective ‘x’ across his chest.

“So, what changed?” he asked, sounding miserable, but stony-faced.

“What?”

“You were leaving because there was nothing left for you. What changed?”

“You, obviously,” Derek scowled, “Us. We changed.”

“I barely talked to you for two whole months, I was so mad at you. You could have left then, why didn’t you?”

Derek shrugged spectacularly.

“I don’t fucking know, Stiles! Hope, I guess? That you’d realise that I was waiting for you. Because I did. I waited.”

“But—”

“Why are you so intent on picking a fight? What the hell is wrong with you?” Derek asked, furious as he stood up. “I’m not going anywhere, we’re not breaking up, and when you go to college, I’ll _still_ be waiting for you. Nothing’s going to change.”

Stiles went very still, standing in the centre of his room among the towers of boxes. He dropped his hands away from their protective shield across his chest, and instead they hung limply at his sides. He was barefoot, just dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair too long and sweeping across his eyes when he bowed his head.

“I don’t want to keep you waiting on me, Derek,” he whispered, helplessly.

“Well tough luck, you don’t really get a say in that,” Derek said, voice gentle as he rose to his feet. “My decision.”

“Then come to Palo Alto with me and Lydia.”

“I’m finally starting to be happy _here_ , Stiles.”

“I don’t want the separation to mess us up. I don’t want you to waste all your time waiting on me.”

Derek stepped in close to Stiles, taking his hands and pulling him in to his chest.

“I figure, your dad waited seven years for your mom,” he said, rubbing his nose against Stiles’ cheekbone, placing a soft kiss at his jaw, “I can wait four days a week, to see you for three.”

“That makes me simultaneously swoon and feel really stupid,” Stiles sighed, tipping his head to the side just a little, and Derek pressed his face to the skin of his neck. 

Derek could scent the upset on Stiles’ skin, and knew he wasn’t the only thing on Stiles’ mind. There was the stress of moving, the guilt of leaving his dad behind, the anxiety of separation from Scott.

As Stiles pulled away, he smacked a noisy kiss on Derek’s cheek as he did in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well, most of my stuff is packed and I’m starting to think about slacking off. Wanna eat something?” Stiles asked, by obvious way of distraction. 

“Kinda. But it’s getting late, and your dad’ll be home soon,” Derek hummed thoughtfully, sitting back down at the end of Stiles’ bed.

“Dad loves you. You two are like—” Stiles held up his hand, his middle finger crossed over his index, “—bros, or something.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to have dinner with him when I’m thinking about putting my dick in your mouth.”

Like always, Stiles’ eyes went dark and unfocussed when Derek talked about sex, mind wandering.

“Don’t say things like that when you’re not going to follow through.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow. “Who said I wouldn’t follow through?”

“Dad’s not working tonight, and Malia’s home from work soon,” Stiles said, draping his arms over Derek’s shoulders, a knee on the mattress between his thighs. He dropped his head to softly kiss Derek’s forehead. Derek tilted his head back a little, looking for a little more eye-contact than Stiles seemed willing to give.

“So, stay at mine tonight.”

Stiles hadn’t exactly spent the night at the loft before. They’d talked about it, planed to a few times since the trip to the beach, even gotten as far as messing around on Derek’s bed — but other things always came up or got in the way. Derek figured that this kind of spontaneity could work in their favour.

“Yeah?” Stiles pulled back, mimicking Derek’s expression, a single eyebrow raised. “Yeah. Okay, let me grab some stuff and we can go.”

Stiles texted his dad on the way out, throwing his rucksack into the footwell of Derek’s SUV. He was quiet, holding Derek’s hand over the gearshift, but Derek could tell he was still thinking about their conversation. It wasn’t until they were across town inside Derek’s loft that he spoke again.

“Do you know Le Châtelier’s Principle?” Stiles asked, and Derek had to wrack his brains for a moment.

“Chemistry?” he asked, and when Stiles nodded minutely, Derek continued with; “Yeah. If a stress such as change in pressure, concentration or temperature is applied to a system at equilibrium, the equilibrium will readjust to relieve the stress.”

“Wow, textbook definition. It’s really hot that you know that,” Stiles stated, sitting down heavily on the couch, tossing his bag aside. Derek snorted, shaking his head as he took a seat next to Stiles, who pulled his legs up to his chest protectively. “But, um, I was thinking about it a lot on the way over here, I feel like we should do that.”

“What, like, find our balance?” Derek asked, a little confused.

“Mm, yeah kinda,” Stiles sighed, rubbing at his forehead, “More like, I think we need to readjust to relieve the stress. Then balance is achieved naturally. I was freaking out earlier because we have this past, and we’ve done some truly terrible stuff to each other, and I feel like if we don’t settle it soon, it will come back to bite us in the ass.”

Stiles’ panicking suddenly made sense to Derek. He was used to losing things, used to nothing ever being definite or consistent. Now that he and Derek had something good together, he was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop

“Stiles, you— you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I just don’t want us to be angry about all the terrible stuff we’ve done to each other.”

“ _What_ terrible stuff?” Derek frowned.

Stiles shrugged. “Like me getting you arrested. That time I used you to manipulate Danny. Me _digging up your sister’s body._ ”

Derek sighed, a little endeared by how torn up Stiles seemed to be. “So, there may be couples counselling in our future?”

“How can you be joking about this?” Stiles whined. “How can you make light of something so awful?”

“Because, Stiles, it’s not like we really _can_ go to therapy about this. There are no werewolf marriage counsellors. There’s no supernatural psychologists. We just have to accept that what’s past is past, and love what we have now. I’ve had to do it, so can you.”

Stiles turned on the couch to face Derek, folding his legs, elbows resting against his knees.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not, but it can be,” Derek said, coolly, “It can be so easy. We can apologise for all our wrongdoings and misgivings right now and start fresh. Relieve the stress from our system, and get our balance back.”

Stiles nodded, scooting closer to take Derek’s hands. Even just touching his skin, Derek could feel both of their tension melting away.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you in the beginning, like a criminal,” Stiles began, tentatively, “I didn’t know you, and I was scared of what was happening to Scott. I didn’t trust you. I do now.” _Growth._

“I’m sorry I treated _you_ the way I did,” Derek responded after a moment, “How many black eyes did you end up with, from me slamming you into your steering wheel?”

“A lot,” Stiles said, matter-of-factly. 

“And I’m sorry I forced you out of your comfort zone so much. Like when I asked you to cut off my arm?”

“You were _dying_ ,” Stiles protested, his grip on Derek’s fingers tightening.

“It was still shitty of me.”

“Yeah, but you were scared too.”

Derek nodded, leaning in to peck a soft kiss against Stiles’ mouth, sighing as he pulled back.

Stiles took a moment, as if composing what he was to say, “I’m sorry I was a real dick after we got back from Mexico. Both times. I was angry at you for leaving, for never calling or texting or telling us you were leaving whenever you disappeared. Didn’t give me any right to act the way I did.”

“I’m sorry about that time in the pool.”

“Fuck no. That was an Important Life Event, Derek.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it really was.”

“I’m sorry about the summer after Sophomore year. The more I think about it, the more I realise how annoying I was when you were just trying to find your pack.”

“Stiles, no, that summer was— Isaac was straying towards Scott anyway. I needed all the help I could get, and you were the only company I had.”

Stiles laughed, breaking their hand-holding to rub his face again.

“Are we really sorry about anything?”

Derek smiled, shaking his head.

“I don’t think so.”

Stiles sighed defeatedly, though he was smiling too, propping his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. “I’m realising everything that happened has made us who we are now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t think I’d change it for the world.”

Derek had to bite down the outright grin he felt coming on. The glint in Stiles eyes told him he wasn’t very successful.

“Do you want to go to bed now?”

“Lead the way.”

**[ J a n u a r y // 1 9 9 6 ]**

Claudia looked pleased, sitting cross-legged in the booth, happily chewing on the straw of her milkshake, one hand keeping the baby carrier in motion next to her.

“We can’t to this every week,” she said, gesturing at John with the milkshake, “It’s not good for you, old man.”

“I’m thirty-seven.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Claudia shot a sidelong glance at her son, as if he could partake in the conversation. “What do you think, Zebadee? Is your old man an old man?”

John had to restrain himself from face-palming. “Please don’t call him that.”

“Can call him what I want,” Claudia replied, through a mouthful of fries, “Isn’t that right, Buttface?”

“I can’t believe you’re calling our son ‘Buttface’.”

“Look at them cheeks, though. Look at them chubby cheeks.”

John spluttered out a laugh, about to reply when he noticed a man stepping up next to their table. He was older — not Claudia’s definition of old, but actually older — maybe late fifties or more. Something about his smile was unsettling.

“Deputy,” he said, smiling, “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Uh,” John glanced at Claudia, who shrugged and went back to handing their son singular fries to munch on with his few baby teeth. “Just grabbing a lunchbreak with the family. Can I help you?”

“Just wanted to introduce myself,” the man said, “My name is Gerard, I recently moved here with my wife and daughter.”

John wasn’t unused to new people in town wanting to introduce themselves, get on the good side of the town’s law enforcement. He was a people-person, he enjoyed interacting. But something about Gerard was off putting in a way John couldn’t place.

“Really?” he asked, forcing what he hoped was a pleasant, interested smile onto his face. “Where’re you folks moving from.”

“San Francisco,” Gerard said, “Just trying to get out of the city.”

Across the table, Claudia went very still, lifting her head to survey Gerard. It wasn’t very often that John saw such a cold look cross her face.

“Oh? What do you do for a living?” Claudia asked, and Gerard turned to face her with a look of surprise, almost like he hadn’t seen her there.

“Private Security Consultant and Firearms Dealer,” Gerard said, genially, “Well—not anymore. I’m afraid I’m retired.”

Claudia nodded quickly, diverting her gaze back to the baby, who was waving his hands looking for more fries. Suddenly, there was a young woman standing there next to Gerard, her blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail.

“Who’re your friends, dad?” She said, smiling that same unsettling smile as her father. John glanced over at Claudia, who suddenly looked incredibly rattled, her arm crossed protectively across their son’s carrier.

“Just introducing myself to the townsfolk, sweetheart. This is Deputy John Stilinski, and—” Gerard looked to Claudia, who seemed reluctant to introduce herself.

“Claudia,” she said, softly.

“Claudia,” Gerard echoed, as his daughter extended her hand.

“Kate,” she said, shaking both John and Claudia’s hand. Her eyes zeroed in on the baby, happily gumming at his own fist. “And who’s this cutie.”

“Zbigniew,” Claudia said.

“…Gesundheit.” Kate replied. Claudia’s face went blank, and John was momentarily afraid he was going to have to step in. But then Claudia smiled brightly, head tilting to the side.

“It’s quite a mouthful, yes. Named him after my father.”

“Your father— I thought…” Kate trailed off, glancing between John and Claudia in confusion, before her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh! You’re married. I thought— how embarrassing of me.”

Claudia sat back suddenly, a look of disbelief on her face. John felt his stomach plummet, looking down at his plate, unsure what to say. Gerard seemed uncomfortable, putting his hands in his pockets.

“We better get going. Nice meeting you, deputy.”

“Uh huh, you too,” John said, nodding, waving. Claudia sat on her side of the booth, expression eerily still. Kate waved at them cheerily through the window as she passed their booth.

“Excuse my language,” Claudia said, reaching over to cover the baby’s ears, “But what a— ok you know the c-word isn’t even strong enough.”

“ _Ceej_.”

“Only I am allowed to call you old. I’m married to you. And you’re _not old_.”

“It’s fine, CJ, let it go.”

“I don’t like them,” Claudia pouted, taking her hands off the baby’s ears when he started to fuss. She rocked the carried gently, peering into it. “See? Gesundheit here didn’t like them either.”

“He’s just tired,” John placated. “Speaking of tired. This tired old man, here. Me. I gotta get back to work.”

Claudia sighed, slinging her handbag over her shoulder and settling the handle of the carrier into the crook of her arm. John put down some cash for the bill, and then curled his arm around her shoulders as they left the diner. He could tell from her far off look that the incident still bothered Claudia, but she didn’t speak up until they got to the cruiser, parked next to the jeep.

“Gerard introduced you to his daughter as Deputy John Stilinski,” Claudia said, frowning as she strapped the carrier into the back seat. John stood behind her at the door.

“That’s my name isn’t it?”

Claudia sighed, sitting into the front seat, and putting on her belt. John rolled down the window and the shut the door for her, leaning up against the side. Her face was drawn with worry, something he’d only seen a handful of times before — _that_ sobered him up. He hated to admit it, but his wife was usually right, and if she was worried about something, he should be too.

“You never _told_ him your name, John. You never got the chance.”

/ / /

**[ S e p t e m b e r // 2 0 1 3 ]**

Derek was greeted, as he left the bathroom, with the sight of Stiles kicking the covers down to the foot of the bed. Knowing Stiles by now meant that Derek knew this was a sign he was feeling… ‘frisky’ was a word Stiles used (without a hint of irony).

“You got lube?” Stiles asked, tapping his fingers against the sheets and leaning down on one elbow on the bed. The position only accentuated the slender curve of his waist, pale skin Derek wanted to sink his teeth into.

“You know I do.”

“I know, but do you have _enough_?”

Derek squinted, “You want to practise hot oil wrestling?”

Stiles laughed, flopping down onto his back.

“No, I want you to fuck me,” he said it with such a bright smile, such an air of confidence, that Derek didn’t even feel the need to ask if he was sure. Stiles _looked_ sure.

“Yeah, I have enough.”

“I’m just saying, I’m well and truly acquainted with your dick, and there’s gonna be a lot of lube if I have anything to do with it.”

Derek laughed as he crossed the room to the bed, leaning over to peck Stiles softly on the mouth.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of you.”

“I know,” Stiles reached up to pull him down into another kiss; this one deeper and slower. “I’ve been thinking about this since the beach. You were so good to me— I just, I wanted to do this in _your_ bed.”

“Mine?” Derek asked, sitting down next to him, and Stiles nodded, an almost _coy_ look crossing his face. 

“Stupid logic but, my college bed isn’t going to be _my_ bed. But this bed is yours. It belongs to you, and I know once I’m gone, I’ll always have this bed to come back to.”

Derek ducked his head, humming happily as Stiles smoothed a large hand over his chest, and then dropped it lower to brush his knuckles against Derek’s stomach.

“That’s a nice thought,” he admitted, and Stiles leaned in, mouthing at the juncture of Derek’s neck.

“So, c’mon,” Stiles murmured happily, and Derek pressed a quick kiss to his temple before getting up off to bed to go get the lube from the bathroom. Stiles laughed quietly from behind him. “Who even keeps the lube in their bathroom?”

“You’ll keep knocking it over if I leave it in the nightstand,” Derek replied, opening the cabinet above the sink, and peering inside.

“That only happened twice.”

“And it destroyed everything in the drawer both times,” Derek replied, though he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

“Hey, you’ve done this before, right?” Stiles asked, as Derek came back through to the bedroom. “My end of it, I mean.”

“Your end of it,” Derek said, barely restraining himself from snorting, lips curling into a toothy grin.

“Shut up,” Stiles’ eye narrowed, but he was grinning too, “Answer the question.”

“Well, yeah,” Derek shrugged. “You don’t have to worry. It’s good.”

“First time?”

Derek sighed, sitting down next to Stiles again, who rolled over on his side so he could reach out touch Derek’s knee.

“The first time, it feels weird. It feels wrong at first, but then once you relax, it starts to feel good. That’s my experience, but honestly, the first time I did this wasn’t all that great. I was in a bad place mentally and it just— it shouldn’t have happened like that. But I told you, I’ll take care of you.”

Stiles stretched up to kiss Derek again, softer this time, a little sigh tagged on to the end.

“C’mere and do me.”

“You’re so romantic.”

Stiles chuckled, settling into the bed and getting comfortable again. Derek pressed quick kisses to wherever he could reach, enjoying the gentle shivers he elicited, beard tickling an apparently very ticklish (or maybe excited) Stiles. Derek’s lips left little hot, wet patches that cooled suddenly when he took his mouth away, Stiles’ hand sliding into his hair and gripping harder with each kiss.

Derek prided himself now on knowing Stiles, understanding the way he thought. He knew Stiles would hate Derek constantly checking on him, asking if he was okay, so he stayed quiet and instead listened to Stiles’ heartbeat, how sure and steady it sounded.

Although, Stiles’ apparent sureness also made him insistent, and he was sinking down onto Derek’s fingers almost as soon as Derek touched him.

“God, that’s good,” Stiles groaned, hoarsely, hitching his leg up over Derek’s hip. Derek murmured in agreement; already, it was _so_ good. Even just feeling Stiles around his fingers, the tight clutch of it, the way Stiles responded to him so quickly. It wasn’t hard to tell that Stiles would love being fucked, he was already getting worked up on just a couple of fingers.

Stiles’ head fell back against the pillow, body arching as Derek pressed the tip of a third finger against his rim.

“Another?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Stiles sighed, “Fuck.”

Derek sighed too, enjoying the give and the heat as he slid that third finger in. Stiles hissed out another _fuck_ , eyes falling closed again as his mouth opened. Derek was slowly getting more impatient, leaning in to bite at Stiles’ collarbone.

“Feel ready?”

Stiles hummed, sounding a little unsure for the first time. “Is that just three fingers?”

“What, you want four?” Derek asked, a touch of disbelief in his voice.

“I’ve _seen_ your dick, man. I’ve felt it in my mouth. I’m going to _need_ four.”

Derek didn’t really think Stiles would need four fingers to take Derek’s cock comfortably, but above all else he wanted Stiles to feel reassured. (Not that Stiles looked anything but a pro, moaning loudly, pushing his hips down when Derek failed to go deep enough for his liking.)

Derek pressed the fourth finger in, tucked in with the rest. He rubbed his thumb against the pink rim stretched around his fingers, then up against Stiles’ perineum. Stiles gasped softly, his hand cupping his pectoral, palm rubbing against his nipple. It was barely a minute later that Stiles was proclaiming he was ready, that he wanted to be fucked.

Derek rolled on a condom with steady fingers, trying to ignore Stiles’ needy hands against his hips, urging him. Then he was pressing forward, curling an arm around Stiles’ back to lift his ass up just a little higher, better for them both as he sank in. Stiles went still, a shocked look crossing his face.

“How’s that?” Derek whispered, trying not to give away just how truly breathless he was, overwhelmed by the tight heat around his dick, Stiles, taking him so well—

“Fucking weird,” Stiles breathed, a hint of a laugh bubbling up. “Give me a sec? Can you… is it okay to wait a sec?”

“Yeah‘f course.”

“You’re so good,” Stiles murmured, cupping a hand around Derek’s jaw and kissing him, his other hand trembling as it reached down between them and tentatively felt around where they were joined, the base of Derek’s dick, cupping his balls behind it.

“Stop that,” Derek huffed, “You’ll make me come too quickly.”

Stiles laughed. “Not something I ever thought I’d hear _you_ say.”

“You have no idea how this feels,” Derek replied, reverently, shifting his hips just a touch. Something flickered across Stiles’ face. Not pleasure, not pain. Acute awareness. His eyes widened, and he dug his fingers into Derek’s thigh. He took a few moments to find his words, moments that felt like years to Derek.

“C’mon, move,” he urged, voice still quiet and sedated. “Slow first.”

“You’ve really never done this?” Derek asked, hesitantly.

“You dick is a whole lot bigger than my two fingers,” Stiles pointed out. “I didn’t even do that as much as I should’ve.”

Derek drew back slowly, eyes on Stiles’ face, the furrow of his brow, lips slightly puckered but falling open as he pushed back in again.

“Probably be easier if you were on your knees,” Derek admitted, belatedly. Stiles’ hands tightened on his skin.

“I don’t think I could handle not seeing your face right now,” Stiles said, cupping Derek’s face as he leaned in, kissing across Stiles’ chin and jaw, easing into a rhythm with his hips. Slowly, Stiles’ body became less tense, letting his head loll to the side for Derek to kiss his throat, thighs relaxing against Derek’s waist, but still tucked neatly up until his arms. The heels of his feet settled comfortably against the small of Derek’s back. “Feels intense.”

Derek slid his arm beneath Stiles’ hips, lifting him easily to better the angle, and Stiles let out a shocked little noise, nails biting into Derek’s skin as if urging him to speed up.

“Oh, what the _fuck_ —”

“Good or bad?” Derek asked, slowing as he looked up at Stiles’ wide eyed expression.

“Good, _good_ , fuck d _on’t stop okay?_ ” Stiles groaned, the last part rushing out of him as Derek surged in to kiss him. He could feel Stiles moving up against him now, rolling his hips in with Derek’s every thrust. Derek could feel Stiles whispering breathlessly against his skin but couldn’t quite catch the words, just a tone of disbelief every so often, like he couldn’t believe what was happening, how good it felt.

Derek knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Despite how much he really did enjoy making Stiles come first, liked taking care of others before himself, it just wasn’t going to happen like that this time.

“Stiles, I’m— _fuck,_ ” he groaned, tucking his face into Stiles’ neck, panting hard as he tried to hold back. Stiles moaned, leg slipping over Derek’s hip and back up again, drawing him in tight.

“Do it. Fuck, come inside me.”

All it took was another few hard thrusts, the loud snap of skin against skin ringing in Derek’s ears as he came, Stiles’ name muffled into his shoulder, a hand tight in his hair.

Stiles made a soft, hurt noise as Derek pulled out, but he’d anticipated that anyway. Tossing the condom into the nearby bin, Derek crawled back over to a dazed-looking Stiles, peppering his stomach with soft kisses, dipping briefly below his navel where his cock lay, red and hard and wet, _so_ wet.

“Turn over for me?”

Stiles hummed, a pleased sound, as he rolled over onto his stomach, pushing his ass back towards Derek, lazily rubbing his dick against the sheets. Derek scooted down, spreading Stiles’ cheeks with his hands, happily diving in. Stiles’ body went limp at the first touch of Derek’s tongue, just like he always did, weak for a mouth on his ass.

Then suddenly, Stiles pushed himself up onto his elbows, groaning quietly.

“Fingers,” he said, voice throaty, trembling, “Put your—”

“I’ve got you,” Derek replied, easily sliding three fingers back in, searching. Stiles cried out suddenly, the line of his shoulders going tense. “There?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles gasped, fingers clawing at the sheets, “Yeah, that’s— there.”

Derek moved so he could blanket Stiles’ body with his own, press him down into the sheets and feel the way Stiles’ shook beneath him, so close to coming but not quite there. He was resting his entire weight on Stiles when he slid his other hand beneath him, skirting along Stiles’ stomach. With a soft ‘ _nuh-uh_ ’, Stiles directed Derek’s hand away from his cock, up towards his chest, and Derek spread his palm over Stiles’ chest, rubbing a thumb over his nipple.

Stiles tugged on the sheets and they came right off the corner of the mattress. Derek grinned, kissing the back of Stiles’ neck, nipping the skin gently. Stiles’ body stilled suddenly, and he moaned, low, deep, his breath cutting jaggedly through it. He felt Stiles’ ass clench tight around his fingers, the wave of pleasure the ripple through him, despite how he was trapped beneath Derek’s weight.

Derek rolled over onto his side, slowly withdrawing his fingers one by one so Stiles wouldn’t feel the loss so acutely.

“Are you okay?” he asked, finding his voice not all there, coming out hoarser than he remembered it being.

Stiles just hummed affirmatively, eyes closed, sweat sparkling at the nape of his neck and down the column of his spine.

“Are you lying in the wet patch?”

“Mmm, don’t care.”

“You ripped the sheets up off the bed again.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you want to shower?”

“Shu’up an’ lemme bask, Der’k.” Stiles mumbled into the pillow beneath his face, squeaking when Derek tweaked his nipple again. “That was fucking otherworldly,” Stiles said, once he could lift his head again. “I’m not even sure if I can walk.”

Derek laughed, scooting to the edge of the bed. “I’ll carry you.”

Stiles flopped over onto his back, grinning, shining, naked. “I love you,” he said, lifting his arms to be carried. Derek rolled his eyes, but did it anyway.

“I love you too,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “For love is mostly tolerance.”

It was worth the sucker punch for Stiles’ laughter and the shower that followed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life got weird. I honestly have no idea when/if this will update again. Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://kantperson.tumblr.com) if you wanna.


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